LIBRARY 

WWVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


Ex  Libris 
ISAAC   FOOT 


^he  £it)ai  Entl3er0al  ^ibri^rg 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE 


COMPANIONS 
OF    MY    SOLITUDE 


SIR   ARTHUR   HELPS,    K.C.B..    DC.L. 


EDITED    BY 

E.    A.    HELPS 


LONDON 

GEORGE   ROUTLEDGE  &   SONS,    LIMITED 

NEW  YORK:    E.   P.   DUTTOX  &  CO 


INTRODUCTION 

This  volume  was  written  in  1851.  In  the  first 
chapter  the  keynote  is  struck  in  the  following 
passage:  '  Others  may  pursue  science  or  art,  and  I 
long  to  do  so  too,  but  I  cannot  help  thinking  of  the 
state  and  fortunes  of  large  masses  of  mankind,  and 
hoping  that  thought  may  do  something  for  them '. 

As  in  all  he  has  written,  the  author  sought, 
directl;y  or  indirectly,  to  interest  his  readers  in 
social  questions.  That  sad  subject,  'the  great  sin 
of  great  cities ',  he  deals  with  at  some  length,  and  it 
is  noticeable  how  Uttle  progress  has  been  made  in 
this  and  some  other  matters  treated  of,  though  it 
is  so  long  since  this  book  was  written. 

The  Companions  of  my  Solitude  are  the  author's 
reveries  and  thoughts.  They  touch  many  subjects, 
and,  as  be  says,  'take  many  forms',  ranging  from 
grave  to  gay,  and  including  topics  as  varied 
as  '  Amusements  ',  '  Travel ',  '  Education  ',  '  The 
Church  of  England',  etc.  The  author  sometimes 
resorts  to  the  method  he  first  adopted  in  Friends 
in  Council — the  discussion  and  criticism  of  the 
argument  by  certain  imaginary  '  friends '.  The 
'thoughts'  are  marked  by  tenderness,  insight, 
and  delicacy  of  touch,  and  they  are  expressed  with 
the  purity  and  lucidity  which  distinguish  the  author's 
style.  They  cannot  fail  to  awaken  sympathetic 
response  in  all  interested  in  their  fellow-creatures, 
and  thus  to  stimulate  and  cheer  them  on  their 
way. 

E.  A.  HELPS 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


:hap.  page 

I.    Misplaced  Laboub 1 

n.     Pleastjees  —  Projects  —  Intelleotttal 

Effort      .         .         .         .         .         .         H 

in.  PUBITAIrtSM  AND  AMUSEMENTS — ThE  TY- 
RANNY OF  THE  Weak — Returns  op 
Suffering 19 

IV.     Retrospection — To    My     Distant     De- 
scendants .....         33 
V.     Statesmen  and  Reforms — Literature   .        45 

VI.     Chance   Felicities — The   Great   Sin  of 

Great  Cities — Remedies  for  This   .        57 

Vil.     The    Story    of   a   Girl's    Rescue,  and 

Conversation  Thereon      ...        85 
Tin.     Romance  —  Further    Consideration    of 
THE  Causes  of  the  '  Great  Sin  ' — Im- 
aginary Objections  to  Reforms    .       101 

IX.     Travel  —  Education   —  Illegitimatb 

Children     .        .        .        .        .        .115 

X.     Books,     their     Helpfulness  —  Misfor- 
tunes AND  Affliction — Consolations       123 
XI.     Sun  Worship — Thoughts  on  Travel,  its 

Advantages  and  Enjoyments   .        .       139 
Xn.     Government — The  Church  of  England 
— A  Conversation  on  some  Aspects 
OF  the  Times      .        .        .        .        .153 
XIII.     The  Art  op  Coming  to  an  End  and  Know- 
ing when  to  Leave  Off — Thoughts 

SUGGESTED    BY   THE   StARS  .  .  173 


COMPANIONS    OF    MY 
SOLITUDE 


CHAPTER  I 

MISPLACED   LABOUR 

When  in  the  country,  I  live  much  alone :  and,  as 
I  wander  over  do-mis  and  commons  and  through 
lanes  with  lofty  hedges,  many  thoughts  come  into 
mj'  mind.  I  find,  too,  that  the  same  ones  come 
again  and  again,  and  are  spiritual  companions.  At 
times  they  insist  upon  being  with  me,  and  are  reso- 
lutely intrusive.  I  think  I  will  describe  them,  that 
so  I  may  have  more  mastery  over  them.  Instead 
of  suffering  them  to  haimt  me  as  vague  faces  and 
half-fashioned  resemblances,  I  ^vill  make  them  into 
distinct  pictures,  which  I  can  give  away,  or  hang 
up  in  my  room,  turning  them,  if  I  please,  \vith  their 
faces  to  the  waU  ;  and  in  short  be  free  to  do  what 
I  like  with  them. 

EUesmere  will  then  be  able  to  deride  them  at  his 
pleasure  ;  and  so  they  will  go  through  the  alembic 
of  sarcasm :  Dunsford  will  have  something  more 
to  approve,  or  rebuke  ;  Lucy  something  more  to 
love,   or  to  hate.     Even  my  dogs  and  my  trcgg 


"Rill   be   the   better  for  this  work,  as  wlien   it 
done  they  wili,  perhaps,  have  a   more  disengag^^ 


is 


2  mSPLACED  LABOUR 

attention  from  me.  Faithful,  steadfast  creatures, 
bf>th  dogs  and  trees,  bow  easy  and  charming  is  your 
converse  with  me  compared  ^nth  the  eager,  ex- 
chisive,  anxious  wav  in  which  the  creations  of  my 
own  brain,  who  at  least  should  have  some  filial 
love  and  respect  for  me,  insist  upon  my  attention. 

It  was  a  thoroughly  Engbsh  day  to-day,  sombre 
r.nd  quiet,  the  skv  coming  close  to  the  earth,  and 
ever\-thing  seeming  to  be  of  one  colour.  I  wand- 
ered'over  the  do«-ns,  not  heeding  much  wliich  way 
I  went,  and  driven  by  one  set  of  thoughts  which 
of  late  have  had  gi-eat  hold  upon  me. 

I  think  often  of  the  hopes  of  the  race  here,  of 
what  is  to  become  of  our  Western  civilization,  and 
Avhat  can  be  made  of  it.  Others  may  pursue  science 
or  art,  and  I  long  to  do  so  too  ;  but  I  cannot  help 
thinking  of  the  state  and  fortunes  of  large  masses 
of  mankind,  and  hoping  that  thought  may  do  some- 
thing for  them.  After  all  my  cogitations,  my  mind 
generally  returns  to  one  tiling,  the  education  of  the 
people.  For  want  of  general  cultivation  how  greatly 
individual  excellence  is  cri]ipled.  Of  what  avail, 
for  exami)le,  is  it  for  any  one  of  us  to  have  sur- 
mounted anv  social  terror,  or  any  superstition, 
while  liis  neighbours  lie  sunk  in  it  ?  His  conduct 
in  reference  to  them  becomes  a  constant  care  and 

bunlen.  .     t      t* 

3'<-ditating  upon  general  improvement,  1  otten 
think  a  great  deal  about  the  climates  in  these  parts 
of  the  world:  and  I  see  that  without  much  hus- 
bandry of  our  means  and  resources,  it  is  difficult 
for  us  to  be  anvthing  but  low  barbarians.  The  diffi- 
culty of  living  at  all  in  a  cold,  damp,  destructive 
climate  is  great.  Socrates  went  al)out  with  very 
scanty  clothing,  and  men  praise  his  wisdom  in 
caring  so  little  for  the  goods  of  this  life.  He  ate 
sparingly,  and  of  me.m  food.  That  is  not  the  way^ 
I  suspect,  that  we  can  make  a  philosopher  here. 


MISPLACED  LABOUR  3 

There  are  people  who  would  deride  one  for  saying 
this,  and  would  contend  that  it  gives  too  much 
weight  to  worldly  things.  But  I  suspect  they  are 
misled  by  notions  borrowed  from  Eastern  chmates. 
Here  we  must  make  prudence  one  of  the  substantial 
virtues. 

One  thing,  though,  I  see,  and  that  is.  that  there 
is  a  quantity  of  misplaced  labour,  of  labour  which 
is  not  consumed  in  stern  contest  -R-ith  the  rugged 
world  around  us,  in  the  endeavour  to  compel  Nature 
to  give  us  our  birthright,  but  m  fighting  -nith 
'  strong  delusions  '  of  all  kinds,  or  rather  in  putting 
up  obstacles  which  we  laboriously  knock  down 
again,  in  making  CTiinese  mazes  between  us  and 
objects  we  have  daily  need  of.  and  where  we  should 
have  only  the  shortest  possible  line  to  go.  As  I 
have  said  elsewhere,  half  the  labour  of  the  world 
is  piu-e  loss — the  work  of  Sisyphus  rolling  up  stones 
to  come  do-rni  again  ine^^tably. 

Law,  for  example,  what  a  loss  is  there  ;  of  time, 
of  heart,  of  love,  of  leisure  !  There  are  good  men 
whose  minds  are  set  upon  improving  the  law  ;  but 
I  doubt  whether  anj^  of  them  are  prepared  to  go 
far  enough.  Here  again  we  must  hope  most  from 
gcnerrJ  improvement  of  the  people.  Perhaps, 
though,  some  one  great  genius  yviW  do  sometliing 
for  us.  I  have  often  fancied  that  a  man  might 
play  the  part  of  Brutus  in  the  law.  He  might 
simulate  madness  in  order  to  ensure  freedom.  He 
might  make  himself  a  great  lawyer,  rise  to  eminence 
in  the  profession,  and  then  turn  roimd  and  say, 
'lam  not  going  to  enjoy  this  high  seat  and  dignity  ; 
but  intend  henceforward  to  be  an  advocate  for  the 
people  of  this  country  against  the  myriad  oppres- 
sions and  vexations  of  the  law.  No  Chancellorships 
or  Chief-Justiceships  for  me.  I  have  only  pretended 
to  be  this  slave  in  order  that  you  should  not  say 
that  I  am  an  untried  and  unpractical  man — that 
I  do  not  imderstand  vour  mysteries '. 


4  MISPLACED  LABOUR 

This  of  course  is  not  the  dramatic  way  in  which 
such  a  thing  would  be  done.  But  there  is  greatness 
enough  in  the  world  for  it  to  be  done.  If  no  lawyer 
rises  up  to  fill  the  place  which  my  imagination  has 
assigned  for  him,  we  must  hope  that  statesmen  will 
do  something  for  us  in  thi?  matter,  that  they  will 
eventually  protect  us  (though,  hitherto,  they  never 
have  done  so)  from  lawyers. 

There  are  many  things  done  now  in  the  law  at 
great  expense  bv  private  individuals  which  ought 
to  be  done  for  all  bv  officers  of  the  State.  It  is  as 
if  each  individual  had  to  make  a  road  for  himself 
whenever  he  went  out,  instead  of  using  the  king's 
highway.  . 

Many  of  the  worst  things  in  the  profession  take 
place  Tow  down  in  it.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  would 
not  try  the  plan  of  having  pubUc  notaries  \A-ith  very 
extensive  functions,  subjecting  them  to  official  con- 
trol. What  exclamations  about  freedom  we  should 
hear,  I  dare  say,  if  any  large  measure  of  this  kind 
were  proposed ;  which  exclamations  and  their 
consequences  have  long  been,  in  my  mind,  a  chief 
obstacle  to  our  possessing  the  reality  of  freedom. 
\Miat  difference  is  it  whether  I  am  a  slave  to  my 
lawyer,  or  subject  indirectly  to  more  official  control 
in  the  changing  of  my  property.  I  do  not  know 
a  meaner  and  sadder  portion  of  a  man's  existence. 
or  one  more  likely  to  l>e  full  of  impatient  sorrow, 
than  that  which  he  spends  in  waiting  at  the  offices 
of  lawj'crs. 

It  is  to  be  observed  that  all  satire  falls  short 
when  aimed  against  the  practices  in  the  law.  No 
man  can  imagine,  not  Swift  himself,  things  more 
shameful,  absurd  and  grotesque  than  the  things 
wliich  do  take  place  daily  in  the  law.  Satire  be- 
oomos  merely  narrative.  A  modern  novelist  deplete 
a  man  ruined  by  a  legacy  of  a  thousand  pounds,  and 
Bleeping  under  a  four-legged  table  because  it  re- 
minded him  of  the  davs  when  ho  used  to  sleep  in 


^nSPLACED  LABOUR  5 

a  four-post  bed.  This  last  touch  about  the  bed  is 
humorous,  but  the  substance  of  the  story  is  dry 
narrative  only. 

These  evils' are  not  of  yesterday,  or  of  this  country 
only  ;  I  observe  that  the  first  Spanish  colonists  in 
America  write  home  to  the  Government  begging 
them  not  to  allow  lawyers  to  come  to  the  colony. 

At  the  same  time,  we  must  not  forget  how  many 
of  the  evils  attributed  solely  to  the  proceedings  of 
lawyers,  result  from  the  want  of  knowledge  of 
business  in  the  world  in  general,  and  its  inaptness 
for  business,  the  anxiety  to  arrange  more  and  for 
longer  time  than  is  wise  or  possible,  and  the  occa- 
sional trusting  of  affairs  to  women,  who  in  our 
country  are  brought  up  to  be  utterly  mcompetent  to 
the  management  of  affairs.  Still,  with  all  these  allow- 
ances, and  taking  care  to  admit,  as  we  must,  if  we 
have  any  fairness,  that  notwitlistanding  the  element 
of  chicanery  and  perverse  small-mindedness  in  wliich 
they  are  involved,  there  are  many  admirable  and 
very  high-minded  men  to  be  found  in  all  grades 
of  the  law  (perhaps  a  more  curious  instance  of  the 
power  of  the  human  being  to  maintain  its  structure 
unimpaired  in  the  midst  of  a  hostile  element,  than 
that  a  man  should  be  able  to  abide  in  a  heated 
oven) ;  admitting  all  these  extenuating  circum- 
stances, we  must  nevertheless  declare,  as  I  set  out 
by  sajang,  that  law  affords  a  notable  example  of 
loss  of  time,  of  heart,  of  love,  of  leism"e  '. 

Well,  then,  as  another  instance  of  misplaced 
labour,   I  suppose  we  must  take  a  good  deal  of 

^  Many  of  the  adjuncts  and  circunistances  of  the 
law  are  calculated  to  maintain  it  as  a  mystery  :  I 
allude  to  the  uncouth  form  and  size  of  deeds,  the 
antiquated  words,  the  unusual  kind  of  handwriting. 
Physicians'  prescriptions  may  have  a  better  effect  for 
being  expressed  mysteriously,  but  legal  matters  can- 
not surely  be  made  too  clear,  even  in  the  merest 
minutife. 


-6  MISPLACED  LABOUR 

whatgoes^on  in  schools  and  colleges,  and,  indeed, 
in  parliaments  and  other  assemblages  of  men.  not 
to  speak  of  the  wider  waste  of  means  and  labour 
which  prevails  in  all  physical  works  such  as  build- 
ings, furniture,  decorations — and  not  merely  w;^ste 
but  obstruction,  so  that  if  there  were  a  good  angel 
attendant  on  the  human  race,  ^\^th  power  to  act 
on  earth,  it  would  destroy  as  fast  as  made  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  men's  productions  as  the  kindest 
thing  which  could  be  done  for  man  and  the  best 
instruction  for  him. 

The  truth  is,  we  must  considerably  address  our- 
selves to  cope  with  Nature.  Here  again,  too,  we 
come  to  the  want  of  more  extended  and  general 
cultivation,  for  otherwise  we  cannot  fully  enjoy  or 
.profit  by  scientific  discovery.  At  present  a  man 
in  a  ci\nUzed  country'  is  surrounded  by  things 
wliich  are  greater  than  he  is  ;  he  does  not  under- 
stand them,  cannot  regulate  them,  cannot  mend 
them. 

This  ignorance  proceeds  in  some  respects  from 
division  of  labour.  A  man  knows  how  to  make  a 
pin's  head  admirably,  but  is  afraid  to  handle  or 
give  an  ojunion  upon  tilings  wliich  he  has  not  daily 
knowledge  of.  Tliis  applies  not  only  to  physical 
things,  but  to  law,  church,  state,  and  the  arts  and 
sciences  generally. 

After  all,  the  advancement  of  the  world  depends 
upon  the  use  of  small  balances  of  advantage  over 
disadvantage,  for  there  is  compensation  everywhere 
and  in  everything.  No  one  discovery  resuscitates 
the  world  ;  certainly  no  physical  one.  EjicIi  new 
good  thought,  or  word,  or  deed,  brings  its  shadow 
with  it ;  and,  as  I  have  just  said,  it  is  upon  the 
small  balances  of  gain  that  we  get  on  at  all.  Often 
too  this  occurs  indirectly,  as  when  moral  gains 
give  physical  gains,  and  these  again  give  room  for 
further  moral  and  intellectual  culture. 

Frequently  it  seems  as  if  the  faculties  of  man 


MISPLACED  LABOUR  7 

were  not  quite  adequate  as  yet  to  liis  situation. 
This  is  perhaps  more  to  be  seen  in  contemplatincr 
individuals,  than  in  looking  at  mankind  in  general. 
The   indi\-idual   seems   the   sport   of   circumstance. 
When  Napoleon   invaded    Russia    (the    proximate 
cause  of  his  downfall),  though  doubtless  there  were 
very   adverse   and   imfortunate    circumstances   at- 
tendant upon  that  invasion,  yet,  upon  the  whole. 
it  gave   a  good  opportunity  for  working  out  the 
errors  of  the  man's  mind  and  system.     The  circum- 
stances were  not  unfair,  as  we  may  say,  against  him. 
Mostprosperous  men,  perhaps  I  shoulcLsij^jmost 
menjnave  in  the  course  of  their  lives  their  campaign 
in  Russia^when  they  strain  their  fortime  to  the 
uttermost,  and  often  it  breaks  under  them.     I  did 
not  mean  anything  like  this  when  I  said  that  the 
individual  seems  the  sport  of  cu'cumstance.   Neither 
did  I  mean  that  small  continuous  faults  and  mis- 
doings have  considerable  effect  upon  a  man,  such  as 
the  errors  and  ^^ces  of  youth,   which  are  silently 
put  down  to  a  man  from  day  to  day  like  his  reckon- 
ing at  an  inn.     But  I  alluded  to  those  very  un- 
fortunate   concun-ences    of    circumstances,    which 
most  men's  hves  will  tell  them  of,   where  a  man 
from  some  small  error  or  omission,  from  some  light 
carelessness,  or  overtrust,  in  thoughtless  innocence 
or  inexperience,  gets  entangled  in  a  web  of  adverse 
circumstances  which  will  be  company  for  him  on 
sleepless   nights    and   anxious   days   throughout   a 
large  part  of  his  Ufe.     Were  success  in  life  (morally 
or  physically)  the  main  object  here,  it  certainly 
would  seem  as  if  a  httle  more  faculty  in  man  were 
sadly  needed.     A  similar  tiling  occm-s  often  to  the 
body,  when  a  man,  from  some  small  mischance  or 
over-sight,  lays  the  beginning  of  a  disease  which  shall 
depress  and  enfeeble  him  while  he  sojourns  upon 
earth.     And  it  seems,   when  he  looks  back,   as  if 
such  a  little  thing  would  have  saved  him  ;    if  he 
had  not  crossed  over  the  road,  if  he  had  not  gone 


8  MISPLACED  LABOUR 

to  see  his  friend  on  that  particular  day,  if  the  dust 
had  not  been  so  unpleasant  on  that  occasion,  the 
whole  course  of  his  life  would  have  been  different. 
Li%nng,  as  we  do,  in  the  midst  of  stern  gigantic  laws 
which  crush  everything  do'mi  that  comes  in  their 
way,  which  know  no  excuses,  admit  of  no  small 
errors,  never  send  a  man  back  to  learn  his  lesson 
and  try  him  again,  but  are  as  inexorable  as  Fate — 
living  I  say  mth  such  powers  about  us  (unseen, 
too,  for  the  most  part)  it  does  seem  as  if  the  faculties 
of  man  were  hardly  as  yet  adecpate  to  his  situation 
here. 

Such  considerations  as  the  above  tend  to  charity 
and  humility ;  and  they  point  also  to  the  existence 
of  a  future  state. 

As  regards  charity,  for  example,  a  man  might 
extend  to  others  the  ineffable  tenderness  which  he 
has  for  some  of  his  own  sins  and  errors,  because 
lie  knows  the  whole  history  of  them  ;  and  though, 
taken  at  a  particular  point,  they  appear  very  large 
and  very  black,  he  knew  them  in  their  early  days 
when  they  were  playfellows  instead  of  tyrant 
demons.  There  are  others  which  he  cannot  so  well 
smooth  over,  because  he  knows  that  in  their  case 
inward  proclivity  coincided  with  outward  tempta- 
tion :  and.  if  he  is  a  just  man,  lie  is  well  aware  that 
if  ho  had  not  erred  here,  lie  would  have  erred  there  ; 
that  experience,  even  at  famine  price,  was  neces- 
sary for  him  in  those  matters.  But,  in  considering 
the  niisdoinf.'s  and  misfortunes  of  others,  he  may 
as  well  begin  at  least  by  tliinking  that  they  are  of 
the  class  which  he  has  found  from  his  own  experi- 
ence to  contain  a  larger  amount  of  what  \vc  call  ill- 
fortune  than  of  anything  like  evil  disposition.  For 
time  and  chance,  says  the  I'rearhcr,  haj)|ien  to  all 
men. 

Tlius  I  thought  in  my  walk  this  dull  and  dreary 
aft(rnof)n,  till  the  ri.sing  of  the  moon  and  the  return 


MISPLACED  LABOUR  9 

from  school  of  the  children  -vnth  their  satchels 
coming  over  the  down  warned  me,  too,  that  it  was 
time  to  return  home  :  and  so,  trying  not  to  think 
any  more  of  these  tilings  I  looked  at  the  bare  beech 
trees,  still  beautiful,  and  the  dull  sheep-ponds 
scattered  here  and  there,  and  thought  that  the 
cotmtry  even  in  winter  and  in  these  northern 
regions,  like  a  great  man  in  adversity  and  just 
disgrace,  was  stiU  to  be  looked  at  with  hopeful 
tenderness,  even  if,  in  the  man's  case,  there  must 
also  be  somewhat  of  respectful  condemnation.  As 
I  neared  home  I  comforted  myself,  too,  by  thinking 
that  the  inhabitants  of  sunnier  climes  do  not  know 
how  winning  and  joyful  is  the  look  of  the  chimney- 
tops  of  our  homes  in  the  midst  of  what  to  them 
would  seem  most  desolate  and  drearv. 


CHAPTER  II 

PLEASUKES — PROJECTS — EN'TELLECTUAL   EFFORT 

I  SUPPOSE  it  has  happened  to  most  men  who  ob- 
serve their  thoughts  at  all,  to  notice  how  some 
expressions  return  again  and  again  in  the  course 
of  their  meditations,  or,  indeed,  of  their  business, 
forming  as  it  were  a  refrain  to  all  they  think,  or  do, 
for  any  given  day.  Sometimes,  too,  this  refrain 
has  no  jjartieular  concern  with  the  thought  or  busi- 
ness of  the  day  ;  but  seems  as  if  it  belonged  to  some 
undercurrent  of  thought  and  feeling.  This,  at  least, 
is  what  I  experienced  to-day  myself,  being  haimted 
by  a  bit  of  old  Spanish  poetry,  which  obtruded  itself, 
sometimes  inopportunely,  sometimes  not  so,  in  the 
midst  of  aU  my  work  or  plaj^  The  words  were 
these : 

Quan  presto  se  va  el  placer, 
Come  despues  de  acordado 

Da  dolor  ; 
Como,  al  nuestro  parecer, 
Qualquiera  tiempo  pasado 

Fue  major. 

How  quickly  passes  pleasure  away, 
How  after  being  granted 

It  gives  pain  ; 
How  in  our  opinion 
Any  past  time 

Was  better  (than  that  we  passed  in  pleasure). 


12  PLEASURES 

It  was  not  that  I  agreed  -m'th  the  sentiment, 
■except  as  applied  to  vicious  pleasure,  being  rather 
•of  Sidney  Smith's  mind,  that  the  remembrance  of 
past  pleasure  is  present  pleasure  ;  but  I  suppose 
the  words  chimed  in  wth  reflections  on  the  past 
'which  formed  the  under-current  of  my  thoughts, 
•as  I  went  through  the  wood  of  beeches  which 
bounded  my  walk  to-day. 

A  critique  had  just  been  sent  me  of  some  literary 
production,  in  which  the  reviewer  was  very  gracious 
in  noticing  the  calmness  and  moderation  of  the 
author.  '  Ah  my  friend ',  thought  I  to  myself, 
'  how  differently  you  would  write  if  you  did  but 
know  the  man  as  I  do,  and  were  aware  what  a  fierce 
fellow  he  is  Avith  all  liis  outward  smoothness,  hardly 
ruling  at  times  thoughts  wliich  are  anything  but 
calm  and  moderate,  yet  struggling  to  be  just,  and 
knowing  tliat  violence  is  always  loss  '  ! 

From  tliat  I  went  on  to  consider  how  intense  is 
the  loneliness  for  the  most  part  of  any  man  who 
endeavours  to  tliink — like  the  Nile  wandering  on 
through  a  desert  country,  with  no  tributary  streams 
to  cheer  and  aid  it,  and  to  be  lost  in  sympathy  Avith 
itfi  main  current.  In  ]»)litics,  for  example,  such  a 
man  will  have  too  atVcctionate  a  regard  for  the 
people  to  bo  a  democrat  ;  he  would  as  soon  leave 
his'  own  children  without  guidance  :  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  ho  will  have  too  great  a  regard  for  merit 
and  fitness  to  be  an  aristocrat.     Ho  will  find  no  one 

£lank  to  walk  up  and  down  consistently;  and  will 
9  always  looking  beyond  measures  which  satisfy 
other  men  ;  and  seeing  perhaps  that  as  regards 
jjolitics  themselves,  greater  tilings  are  to  be  done 
out  of  thorn  than  in  them. 

I  was  sih^nt  in  thought  for  a  moniciit,  and  tlien 
my  rcfr.iiu  camo  back  again  : 

Qiialquicra  fi('nip(>  pnsivilo 
Fill-  iiicjor. 


PROJECTS  13 

And  in  a  moment  I  went  back,  not  to  the  pleasures, 
but  to  the  ambitious  hopes  and  projects  of  youth. 
And  when  a  man  does  reflect  upon  the  ambitions 
which  are  as  characteristic  of  that  period  of  life 
as  reckless  courage  or  elastic  step,  and  finds  that 
at  each  stage  of  his  journey  since,  some  hope  has 
dropped  oif  as  too  burdensome,  or  too  romantic, 
till  at  last  it  is  enough  for  him  only  to  carry  himself 
at  all  upright  in  this  troublesome  world — what 
thoughts  come  back  upon  him  !  How  he  meditates 
upon  his  own  errors  and  shortcomings,  and  sees  that 
he  has  had  not  only  the  hardness,  oiliness,  and 
imperturbability  of  the  world  to  contend  with,  but 
that  he  himself  has  generally  been  his  worst  an- 
tagonist. 

In  this  mood.  I  might  have  thrown  myself  upon 
the  mound  under  a  green  beech  tree  that  was  near, 
the  king  of  the  woods,  and  uttered  many  lamenta- 
tions ;  but,  instead  of  doing  anything  of  the  kimU 
I  walked  sedately  by  it  ;  for,  as  we  go  on  in  life, 
we  find  we  cannot  afford  excitement,  and  we  learn 
to  be  parsimonious  in  our  emotions.  Again  I 
muttered  : 

Qualquiera  tiem[)o  pasado 
Fue  mejor. 

And  I  threw  forward  these  words  into  the  future> 
as  if  I  were  already  blaming  any  tendency  to  un- 
necessary emotion. 

I  entered  now  into  another  vein  of  thought,  con- 
sidering that  kind  Nature  would  not  allow  a  man 
to  be  so  very  wise,  nor  for  the  sake  of  any  good 
he  might  do  to  others,  permit  him  to  forfeit  the 
benefit  he  must  derive  from  his  own  errors,  failures, 
and  shortcomings.  You  may  mean  weU,  she  says, 
and  you  might  expect  that  I  should  give  you  any 
extraordinary  fm-therance,  and  not  suffer  you  to  be- 
plagued  with  drawbacks  and  errors  of  your  own,. 


14  HUmLITY 

that  so  you  might  do  your  work  undisturbed  :  but  I 
love  you  too  well  for  that.  I  sacritic<'  no  one  child  for 
the  benefit  of  the  rest.     You  all  must  learn  humihty. 

I  felt  the  truth  of  these  words,  and  thereupon 
gave  myself  up  to  more  cheerful  thoughts.  How 
much  cheerfulness  there  is  by  the  way  in  humility. 
I  hstened  to  the  cuckoo  in  the  woods,  hearing  his 
tiresome  but  welcome  noise  for  the  first  time  in  the 
year,  and  I  looked  out  for  the  wild-flowers  that 
were  just  beginning  to  show  themselves,  and  thought 
that,  from  the  names  of  flowers,  it  is  evident  that, 
in  former  days,  poets  and  scholars  must  have  lived 
in  the  country  and  looked  well  at  Nature.  Else 
how  came  all  these  picturesque  and  poetical  names, 
'  Love  in  idleness  ',  '  Venus's  looking-glass  ',  and 
such  Uke. 

But  as  the  shades  of  evening  came  on  in  the  wood, 
my  thoughts  went  away  from  these  simple  topics  ; 
the  refrain,  too  : 

Quan  presto  se  va  el  jilacer, 

5<ounded  in  my  ears  again  ;  and  I  passed  on  to 
meditations  of  like  colour  to  those  in  the  former 
part  of  my  walk.  In  addition  to  the  other  hin- 
drances I  alluded  to  before,  this  also  must  come 
home  to  the  mind  of  many  a  man  of  the  present 
generation — how  he  is  to  discern,  much  more  to 
teach,  even  in  small  things,  without  ha\nng  clear 
views,  or  distinct  convictions,  upon  .some  of  the 
greatest  matters— upon  religious  ques'ions  for 
instance  ?  And  yet  I  suppose  it  must  Ix;  tried. 
Even  a  man  of  'Goethe's  immense  industry  and 
great  intellectual  resources,  feared  to  throw  himself 
upon  the  sea  of  bibhcal  criticism.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  how  poor,  timid  and  tentative  must  be  all 
discourse  built  ufKin  inferior  motives.  Ah,  if  we 
could  but  discern  what  is  the  right  way  and  the 
highest  way  ! 


mSCONCEPTION  15 

These  doubts  which  beset  men  upon  many  of 
the  greatest  matters,  are  the  direct  result  of  the 
lies  and  falsification  of  our  predecessors.  Some- 
times when  we  look  at  the^  frightful  errors  which 
metaphorical  expressions  may  have  introdijced, 
I  do  not  wonder  that  Plato  spoke  in  the  hardest 
manner  of  poets.  But  man  cannot  narrate  -nithout 
metaphors,  so  much  more  does  he  see  in  every  trans- 
action than  the  bare  circumstances. 

When  I  was  at  ]\Iilan  and  saw  the  glory  of  that 
town,  the  '  Last  Supper '  by  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  I 
could  not  help  thinking,  as  my  way  is,  many  things, 
not,  perhaps,  very  closely  connected  with  that  grand 
work,  but  which  it  suggested  to  my  mind.  At  first 
you  may  be  disappointed  in  finding  the  figiires  so 
much  faded,  but  soon,  with  patient  looking,  much 
comes  into  view :  and,  after  marvelling  at  the 
inexpressible  beauty  which  still  remains,  you  find 
to  your  astonishment  that  no  picture,  no  print, 
perhaps  no  description,  has  adequately  represented 
what  you  can  still  trace  in  this  work.  Not  only  has 
it  not  been  represented,  but  it  has  been  utterly 
misrepresented.  The  copyist  thought  he  could 
tell  the  story  better  than  the  painter,  and  where 
the  outhnes  are  dim,  was  not  content  to  leave  them 
so,  but  must  insert  something  of  his  own  wliich  is 
clearly  -wTong.  This,  I  thought,  is  the  way  of  most 
translation,  and  I  might  add,  of  most  portrait- 
painting  and  nearly  all  criticism.  And  it  occurred 
to  me  that  the  written  history  of  the  world  was 
very  like  the  prints  of  this  fresco — namely,  a  clear 
account,  a  good  deal  of  it  utterly  %^Tong,  of  what 
•at  first  hand  is  considerably  obliterated,  and  which, 
•except  in  minds  of  the  highest  powers  of  imagina- 
tion, to  be  a  clear  conception  can  hardly  be  a  just 
•one. 

And  then,   carrying  my  application  still  further 
•.to  the  most  important  of  all  histories,  I  thought 


16  INTELLECTUAL  EFFORT 

how  the  simple  majesty  of  the  original  transac- 
tion had  probably  suffered  a  Uke  misconception, 
from  the  fading  of  the  material  narrative,  and 
still  more  from  the  weak  inventions  of  those  who 
could  not  represent  accurately,  and  were  impatient 
of  any  dimness  (to  their  eyes)  in  the  divine 
original. 

I  often  fancy  How  I  should  like  to  direct  the 
intellectual  efforts  of  men  :  and.  if  I  had  the  power, 
how  frequently  I  should  direct  them  to  those  great 
subjects  in  metaphysics  and  theology  which  now 
men  shun. 

What  patient  labour  and  what  mtellectual  power 
are  often  bestowed  in  coming  to  a  decision  on  any 
cause  which  involves  much  worldly  property.  Might 
there  not  be  some  great  hearing  of  any  of  the 
inteUectual  and  spiritual  difficulties  which  beset 
the  path-s  of  all    thoughtful  men   in   the   present 

age  ? 

Church  questions,  for  example,  seem  to  require 
a  vast  investigation.  As  it  is,  a  book  or  pamphlet 
is  put  forward  on  one  side,  then  another  on  the 
other  side,  and  somehow  the  opposing  facts  and 
arguments  seldom  come  into  each  other's  presence. 
And  thus  truth  sustains  great  loss. 

My  own  opinion  is,  if  I  Ciin  venture  to  say  that 
I  have  an  opinion,  that  what  we  ought  to  seek  for 
is  a  church  of  the  utmost  width  of  doctrine,  and 
with  the  most  l>eautiful  expression  that  can  be 
dcvi.sod  for  that  doctrine— the  most  beautiful  ex- 
pression, I  mean,  in  words,  in  deeds,  in  sculpture, 
Lnd  in  sacred  song;  which  should  have  a  simple 
easy  grandeur  in  its  proceedings  that  should  please 
the  elevated  and  poetical  mind,  cliarm  the  poor, 
and  yet  not  lie  ojK>n  to  just  cavilling  on  the  part 
of  those  somewhat  hard,  inteUectual  worshippers 
who  must  have  a  reason  for  everything;  which 
should  have  vitality  and  growth  m  it ;    and  wluch 


INTELLECTUAL  EFFORT  17 

should  attract  and  not  repel  those  who  love  truth 
better  than  any  creature. 

Pondering  these  things  in  the  silence  of  the  downs, 
I  at  last  neared  home  ;  and  found  that  the  result 
of  all  my  thoughts  was  that  any  would-be  teacher 
must  be  contented  and  humble,  or  try  to  be  so, 
in  his  efforts  of  any  kind ;  and  that  if  the  great 
questions  can  hardly  be  determined  by  man  (divided 
too  as  he  is  from  his  brother  in  all  ways)  he  must 
still  try  and  do  what  he  can  on  lower  levels,  hoping 
ever  for  more  insight,  and  looking  forward  to  the 
knowledge  which  may  be  gained  by  death. 


CHAPTER  III 

PURITANISM    AND    AMUSEMENTS — THE    TYRANNY    OF 
THE    WEAK — RETURNS    OF   SUFFERING 

To-day,  as  the  weather  was  cold  and  boisterous,  I 
could  only  walk  under  shelter  of  the  yew  hedge  in 
my  garden,  which  some  gracious  predecessor  (all 
honour  to  him  !)  planted  to  keep  off  the  dire  north- 
west winds,  and  which,  I  fear,  unless  he  was  a  very 
hardy  plant  himself,  he  did  not  live  long  enough  to 
profit  much  by.  Being  so  near  home,  my  thoughts 
naturally  took  a  domestic  turn  ;  and  I  vexed  myself 
by  tliinking  that  I  had  received  no  letter  from  my 
little  boy.  This  was  o\nng  to  the  new  post-office 
regulations  which  did  not  allow  letters  to  go  out 
from  country  places,  or  be  delivered  at  such  jilaces,' 
on  a  Sunday.  Oh  those  \ncked  Borgias,  said  I  to 
myself,  how  much  we  have  to  blame  them  for  ! 
To  be  sure,  I  know  prettv  well  ^hat  the  letter  would 
be. 

'  I  hope  you  are  well  papa  and  I  send  you  my 
love  and  I  have  got  a  kite  and  uncle  George's  dog 
is  very  fierce.  His  name  is  Nero  which  was  a 
Roman  emperor  nearly  quite  white  only  he  has 
got  two  black  spots  just  over  his  nose  And  I  send 
my  love  to  mamma  and  the  children  and  I  am  j^our 
OA^Ti  little  boy  and  affectionate  son, 

'  Leonard  ^Milverton  '. 


20       PURITANISM  AND  AMUSEMENTS 

Not  a  very  important,  certainly  not  a  very 
artistic,  production  this  letter,  but  still  it  has  its 
interest  for  the  foolish  paternal  mind,  and  I  should 
like  to  have  received  it  to-day.  It  is  greatly  ownig 
to  those  Borgias  that  I  have  not  received  this 
letter.  Most  of  my  neighbours  imaguie  that  their 
little  petitions  were  the  sole  cause  of  these  post- 
office  regulations  ;  but  I  beg  to  go  somewhat  fm-ther 
back,  and  I  come  to  Pope  Alexander  the  Sixth,  and 
lay  a  great  deal  of  blame  on  him.  The  pendulous 
folly  of  mankind  oscillates  as  far  in  this  direction 
as  it  has  come  from  that ;  and  an  absurd  Puritan 
is  only  a  correlative  to  a  wicked  Pope. 

From  such  reflections,  I  fell  to  considermg 
Puritanism  generally,  and  I  am  afraid  I  came  to  a 
different  conclusion  from  that  which  would  have 
been  popular  at  any  of  the  late  pubhc  meetmgs  ; 
but  then  I  console  myself  by  an  apliorism  of  Elles- 
merc's,  who  is  wont  to  remark,  '  How  exactly  pro- 
portioned to  a  man's  ignorance  of  the  subject  is 
the  noise  he  makes  about  it  at  a  public  meeting  . 
Kno\\lcdgc  brings  doubts  and  exceptions  and  limita- 
tions which,  though  occasionally  some  aids  to  truth, 
arc  all  hindrances  to  vigorous  statement. 

But  to  go  back  to  what  I  thought  about  Puritan- 
iam_for  1  endeavoured  to  methochze  my  thoughts, 
and  the  following  is  the  eour.se  tlu^y  took. 

What  are  the  objects  of  life,  as  far  !i»s  regards 
this  world  ?  Its  first  wants,  I  answer,  namely,  food 
and  raiment.  What  besides  ?  Marrying  and  the 
rearing  of  children  ;  and,  in  g(!neral,  the  cultivation  of 
the  aiTcctioiis.      So  far  Puritans  would  agree  with  us. 

But  Hupi)os(r  all  these  things  to  be  temiM^red  with 
gaiety  and  festivity  :  what  element  of  wickedness 
has  nacvsmrily  entered  Y  None  that  I  can  iierceive. 
Srlf-iudulgcnce  takes  many  forms;  and  we  should 
hear  in  mind  that  there  niay  be  a  sullen  sensuality 
as  w(-ll  as  ii  gay  one. 

But  the  truth  is,  there  is  a  secret  belief  amongst 


PURITANISM  AND   A^IUSEMENTS        21 

some  men  that  God  is  displeased  with  man's  happi- 
ness ;  and  in  consequence  they  slink  about  creation, 
ashamed  and  afraid  to  enjoy  anything. 

They  answer,  we  do  not  object  to  rational  pleas- 
ures. 

But  who,  my  good  people,  shall  exactly  define 
rational  pleasures  ?  You  are  pleased  with  a  flower  ; 
to  cultivate  flowers  is  what  you  call  a  rational 
pleasure  :  there  are  people,  however,  to  whom  a 
flower  is  somewhat  insipid,  but  they  perhaps  dote 
upon  miisic,  which,  however,  is  unfortunately  not 
one  of  your  rational  pleasures — chiefly,  a,s  I  believe, 
because  it  is  mainly  a  sooial  one.  Why  is  there 
anything  neces'^arily  wron^t,  in  social  pler^sures  ? 
Certainly  some  of  the  most  dangerous  vices,  such  as 
pride,  are  found  to  flourish  in  solitude  vv'ith  more 
vigour  than  in  society :  and  a  man  may  be  deadly 
avaricious  who  has  never  even  gone  out  to  a  tea- 
party. 

Once  I  happened  to  overhear  a  dialogue  some- 
what similar  to  that  which  Charles  Lamb,  perhaps, 
only  feigned  to  hear.  I  was  travelling  in  a  railway 
carriage  with  a  most  precise-looking  formal  person, 
the  Arch-Quaker,  if  there  be  such  a  person.  His 
countenance  was  very  noble,  or  had  been  so,  before 
it  was  frozen  up.  He  said  nothing  :  I  felt  a  great 
respect  for  him.  At  last  liis  mouth  opened.  I 
listened  with  attention  :  I  had  hitherto  lived  with 
foolish,  gad-about,  dinner -eating,  dancing  peoi^le  : 
now  I  was  going  to  hear  the  words  of  retired  wisdom  ; 
when  he  thus  addressed  his  young  daughter  sitting 
opposite,  '  Hast  thee  heard  how  Southamptons  went 
lately  ?  '  (in  those  days  South  Western  Railway 
shares  were  called  Southamptons),  and  she  replied 
with  like  gravity,  giving  him  some  information  that 
she  had  picked  up  about  Southamptons  yesterday 
evening. 

I  leant  back  rather  sickened  as  I  thought  what 
was  probably  the  daily  talk  and  the  daily  thoughts 


22        PURITANISM  AND  A.MUSE3IEXTS 

in  that  family,  from  which  I  conjectured  all  amuse- 
ment was  banished  save  that  connected  \nth  intense 
money-getting. 

Well,  but  exclaims  the  advocate  of  Puritanism, 
I  do  not  admit  that  my  clients,  on  abjuring  the 
pleasures  of  this  world,  fall  into  pride,  or  sudden 
sensuality,  or  intense  money-getting.  They  only 
secure  to  themselves  more  time  for  works  of  charity 
and  for  the  love  of  God. 

You  are  an  adroit  advocate,  and  are  careful,  by 
not  pushing  your  case  too  far,  to  give  me  the  least 
possible  room  for  reply.  They  secure  to  themselves 
more  time  for  these  good  works,  you  say.  Do  they 
do  them  ?  But  the  truth  is,  in  order  to  meet  your 
remark  and  to  extract  the  good  there  is  in  it,  I 
must  begin  by  saving  that  Puritanism,  as  far  as 
it  is  an  abnegation  of  self,  is  good,  or  may  be  so. 
But  this  is  most  surely  the  case  when  it  turns  its 
sufferings  and  privations  to  utility.  It  has  always 
appeared  to  me  that  there  is  so  much  to  be  done 
in  this  world,  that  all  self-inflicted  suffering  which 
cannot  be  turned  to  good  account  for  othere,  is  a 
loss— a  loss  if  you  may  so  express  it,  to  the 
spiritual  world. 

The  Puritanism  which  I  object  to  is  that  which 
avoids  some  pleasure,  and  exhausts  in  injurious 
comment  and  attack  upon  other  people  any  leisure 
and  force  of  mind  which  it  may  have  gained  by  its 
abstinence  from  the  pleasure. 

I  can  understand  and  sympathize  with  the  man 
who  says  '  I  enjoy  festivity,  but  I  cannot  go  to  the 
feast  I  am  bidden  to,  to-night,  for  there  arc  sick 
people  who  must  be  first  attended  to  '.  But  I  do 
not  love  the  man  who  stays  away  from  the  feast 
and  emf)IoyH  his  leisure  in  delivering  a  sour  discourse 
on  the  wickedness  of  the  others  who  are  invited  to 
the  feast,  and  who  go  to  it. 

Moreover,  this  censoriousness  is  not  only  a  sin. 


PURITANISM  AND  AMUSEMENTS       23 

but  the  inventor  of  many  sins.  Indeed  the  manu- 
facture of  sins  is  so  easy  a  manufacture,  that  I  am 
convinced  man  could  readily  be  persuaded  that  it 
was  ^vicked  to  use  the  left  leg  as  much  as  the  right  ; 
whole  congregations  would  only  permit  themselves  to 
hop ;  and,  what  is  more  to  our  present  point,  would 
consider  that,  when  they  walked  in  the  ordinary 
fashion,  they  were  committing  a  deadly  sin.  Now  I 
should  not  think  that  the  man  who  were  to  invent 
this  sin,  would  be  a  benefa<?.tor  to  the  human  race. 
You  often  hear  in  a  town,  or  village,  a  bit  of 
domestic  history,  which  seems  at  first  to  mihtate 
against  what  I  have  been  saying,  but  is  in  reality 
very  consistent  with  it.  The  story  is  of  some  poor 
man,  and  is  apt  to  run  thus  :  He  began  to  frequent 
the  alehouse  ;  he  sought  out  amusements  ;  there 
was  a  neighbouring  fair  where  he  first  showed  liis 
quaiTelsome  disposition  ;  then  came  worse  things  ; 
and  now  here  he  is  in  prison.  Yes,  I  should  reply, 
he  frequented  with  a  stealthy  shame  those  places 
which  you,  who  would  ignore  all  amusement,  have 
suffered  to  be  most  coarse  and  demoralizing.  All 
along  he  had  an  exaggerated  notion  of  the  blame 
that  he  was  justly  liable  to  from  his  first  steps  in 
the  downward  path :  the  truth  unfortunately  is, 
that  you  go  a  long  way  to  make  a  small  error  into 
a  sin,  when  you  miscall  it  so.  I  would  not,  therefore, 
have  a  clergyman  talk  of  the  alehouse  as  ii  it  were 
the  pit  of  Acheron.  On  the  contrary,  I  would  have 
him  acknowledge  that,  considering  the  warmth 
and  cheerfulness  to  be  found  in  the  sanded  parlour 
of  the  village  inn,  it  is  very  natural  that  men  should 
be  apt  to  frequent  it.  I  would  have  him,  however, 
go  on  to  show  what  frequenting  the  alehouse  mostly 
leads  to,  and  how  the  labourer's  home  might  be 
made  to  rival  the  alehouse  :  and  I  would  have 
him  help  to  make  it  so,  or  in  some  way  to  provide 
some  substitute  for  the  alehouse. 

The  evils  of  competition  are  very  considerable, 


24       PURITANISM  AND  AMUSEMENTS 

and  many  people  in  these  times  hold  up  competition 
as  the  great  monster  evil  of  the  age.  I  do  not  know 
how  that  may  Vje  ;  but  I  am  sure  that  the  com- 
petition there  is  in  the  way  of  puritanical  demonstra- 
tion is  very  injurious  to  sincerity.  This  com- 
petition is  the  child  of  fear.  A  is  afraid  that  his 
neighbom-  U  A\ill  not  think  well  of  him,  because  he 
(A)  docs  or  permits  something  which  C,  another 
neighbour,  will  not  allow  in  his  house.  Surelj'  this 
is  little  else  than  mere  man-worsliip.  It  puts  one 
in  mind  of  the  story  of  tliat  congregation  of  the 
Church  of  England,  who  begged  their  clergyman 
to  give  them  longer  sermons — not  that  they  were 
fond  of  long  discourses — but  that  they  might  not 
always  be  out  of  church  before  some  neighbouring 
congn'gation  of  Wesleyans  or  Independents. 

Returning  to  the  imaginary  advocate  for  Puri- 
tanism who  said  that  it  secured  more  time  for 
works  of  charity  and  for  the  love  of  God. 

I  do  not  know  whether  other  jx^ople's  observa- 
tion will  tally  with  mine  ;  but  as  far  as  I  have 
observed,  it  appears  to  me  that  charity  requires 
the  Htemest  labrxir  and  the  most  anxious  thought ; 
that,  in  short,  it  is  one  of  the  most  difhcult  things 
in  the  world,  and  is  not  altogetlier  a  matter  for 
leisure  hours.  This  remark  apphes  to  the  more 
seriotis  functions  of  charity.  Rut,  we  must  re- 
m«'mb(T,  that  the  whole  of  charity  is  not  comprised 
in  carrying  about  gifts  to  one  another,  or,  to  speak 
more  generally,  in  remed\nng  the  material  evils 
HM(T«'red  by  those!  jiround  us  ;  else  life  would  indeed 
be  a  dreary  affair;  but  there  are  exquisite  httlo 
charities  to  ])e  performed  in  reference  to  social 
pleiixures. 

Then,  as  to  the  love  of  Cod,  I  do  not  venture  to 
Bay  much  upon  so  solenm  a  theme  ;  but  it  docs 
orciir  to  me,  that  we  slimild  talk  and  tliink  very 
humbly  about  our  capacity  in  matters  so  much  .abovo 
lis.      .\t  any  rate  I  do  not  see  whv  the  love  of  God 


PURITANISM  AND  A3IUSE]\IENTS        25 

should  withdraw  us  largely  from  our  fellow-man. 
That  love  we  believe  was  greatest  in  Him  who 
graced  with  His  presence  the  marriage  feast  at 
Cana  in  Gahlee  ;  who  was  never  kno^-n  to  shun  or 
ignore  the  existence  of  the  vicious  ;  and  to  whom, 
more  than  to  all  other  teachers,  the  hyijocrite  seems 
to  have  been  particularly  ochous. 

But  there  is  another  very  important  considera- 
tion to  be  weighed  by  those  who  are  fearful  of  en- 
couraging amusements,  especially  amongst  their 
poorer  brethren.  ^Miat  are  the  generality  of  people 
to  do  ;  or  to  think  of,  for  a  considerable  portion  of 
each  day,  if  they  are  not  allowed  to  busy  themselves 
•n-ith  some  form  of  recreation  ?  Here  is  tliis  in- 
finite creatm-e,  man,  who  looks  before  and  after, 
whose  swiftness  of  thought  is  such,  even  among  the 
dullest  of  the  species,  as  would  perhaps  astonish 
the  brightest,  who  are  apt  to  imagine  that  none 
think  but  themselves  ;  and  you  fancy  that  he  can 
be  quite  contented  with  providing  warmth  and 
food  for  himself  and  those  he  has  to  love  and 
cherish.  Food  and  warmth  !  content  -with  that ! 
not  he  !  and  we  should  greatly  despise  him  if  he 
could  be.  Why  is  it  that  in  all  ages  small  to^^^ls 
and  remote  \-iliages  have  fostered  little  malignities 
of  all  kinds  ?  The  true  answer  is,  that  people  vaU. 
backbite  one  another  to  any  extent  rather  than  not 
be  amused.  Nay,  so  strong  is  this  desire  for  some- 
thing to  go  on  that  may  break  the  monotony  of  life, 
that  people,  not  other«-ise  ill-natured,  are  pleased 
with  the  misfortime  of  their  neighbours,  solely 
because  it  gives  something  to  think  of,  something 
to  talk  about.  They  imagine  how  the  principal 
actors  and  sufferers  concerned  in  the  misfortime 
will  bear  it ;  what  they  -n-iU  do  ;  how  they  will 
look  :  and  so  the  dull  bystander  forms  a  sort  of 
drama  for  himself.  He  would,  perhaps,  be  told 
that  it  is  wicked  for  him  to  go  to  such  an  entertain- 


26       PURITANISM  AND  AMUSEMENTS 

ment :  he  makes  one  out  for  himself,  not  always 
innocently. 

You  hear  clergymen  in  country  parishes  de- 
nouncing the  ill -nature  of  their  parishioners  :  it 
is  in  vain  :  the  better  sort  of  men  try  to  act  up 
to  what  they  are  told  ;  but  really  it  is  so  dull  in 
the  parish,  that  a  bit  of  scandal  is  welcome  to  the 
heart.  These  poor  people  have  nothing  to  think 
about ;  Nature  shows  them  comparatively  little, 
for  art  and  science  have  not  taught  them  to  look 
behind  the  scenes,  or  even  at  tlie  scenes  ;  litera- 
ture they  know  nothing  of ;  they  cannot  have 
gossip  about  the  men  of  the  past  (which  is 
the  most  innocent  kind  of  gossip),  in  other  words, 
read  and  discuss  history  ;  they  have  no  delicate 
handiwork  to  amuse  them ;  in  short,  talk  they 
must,  and  talk  they  will,  about  their  neighbours, 
whose  goings-on  are  a  perpetual  puppet-show  to 
them. 

But,  to  speak  more  gravely,  man,  even  the  most 
sluggish-minded  man,  craves  amusement  of  some 
kind  ;  and  his  wiser  and  more  powerful  brethren 
will  show  their  wisdom,  or  their  want  of  it,  in  the 
amusements  they  contrive  for  him. 

We  need  not  be  afraid  that  in  England  any  art 
or  innocent  amusement  will  be  cultivated  too  much. 
The  genius  oi  the  jM'ople,  though  kindly,  is  severe. 
And  that  is  why  there  is  so  much  less  danger  of 
their  being  injured,  if  any  one  is,  by  recreation. 
Cyrus  kept  the  Lytlians  tame,  we  are  told,  by  allow- 
ing them  to  cultivate  music  ;  the  (ireeks  were 
perhajH  prevented  from  l)ec(>ming  dominant  by  a 
cultivation  of  many  arts  ;  but  the  Anglo-Saxons, 
like  the  Romans,  can  afford  to  cultivate  art  and 
recreations  f)f  all  kinds.  Such  pursuits  will  not  tame 
them  tf)o  much.  To  (•r)nt<>nd,  occasionally,  against 
the  Ix-nt  •)f  the  genius,  or  the  circumstances,  of  a 
j)eople,  is  one  of  the  great  arts  of  statesmanship. 
The  same  thing  which  is  to  be  dreaded  in  one  place 


THE  TYRANNY  OF  THE  WEAK         27 

is  to  be  cultivated  in  another :   here  a  poison,  there- 
an  antidote. 

The  above  is  what  I  thought  in  reference  to  Puri- 
tanism during  my  walk  tliis  evening  :  then  by  a 
not  uneasy  diversion  of  mind,  I  turned  to 
another  branch  of  small  persecutions  —  small  do- 
I  call  them  ?  perhaps  they  are  the  greatest 
that  are  endured,  certainly  the  most  vexatious. 
I  mean  aU  that  is  perpetrated  by  the  t\Tanny  of 
the  weak. 

This  is  a  most  fertile  subject  and  has  been  nearly 
neglected.  Weak  is  a  relative  term :  whenever 
two  people  meet,  one  is  comparatively  weak  and 
the  other  strong ;  the  relation  between  them  is 
often  supposed  to  imply  this.  Taking  society  in 
general,  there  is  a  certain  weakness  of  the  kind  I 
mean,  attributable  to  the  sick,  the  spoilt,  the  ill- 
tempered,  the  unfortunate,  the  aged,  women,  and 
the  clergj^  Now,  I  venture  to  say,  there  is  no  ob- 
servant man  of  the  world  who  has  lived  to  the  age 
of  thirty,  who  has  not  seen  numerous  instances  of 
severe  tyranny  exercised  by  persons  belonging  to 
one  or  other  of  these  classes  ;  and  wliich  tyranny 
has  been  established,  continued,  and  endvired,  solely 
by  reason  of  the  weakness,  real  or  supposed,  of  the 
persons  exercising  it.  TaLiing  once  ^nth  a  thought- 
ful man  on  this  subject,  he  remarked  to  me,  that  of 
course  the  generous  suffered  much  from  the  tyranny 
I  was  speaking  of,  as  the  strength  of  it  was  dra^vn 
from  their  strength.  It  might  be  compared  to  an 
evil  government  of  a  rich  people,  in  which  their 
riches  furnished  forth  abimdant  armies  wherewith 
to  oppress  the  subject. 

In  quiet  times  tliis  tyranny  is  very  great.  I 
have  often  thought  whether  it  was  not  one  very 
considerable  compensation  for  rude  hard  times, 
or  times  of  dire  alarm,  that  domestic  tyranny  was 
then  probably  less  severe  :  and  among  the  various- 
forms  of  domestic  t\Tanny  none  occupies  a  mor& 


28         THE  TYRANNY  OF  THE  WEAK 

distinguished  i^lace  than  this  of  the  tyranny  of  the 
weak  over  the  strong. 

If  you  come  to  analyze  it,  it  is  a  tyranny  exer- 
cised by  playing  upon  the  good  nature,  the  fear  of 
responsibility,  the  dread  of  acting  selfishly,  the 
horror  of  giving  pain,  prevalent  among  good  and 
kind  people.  They  often  know  that  it  is  a  tre- 
mendous tyranny  they  are  suffering  under,  and 
they  do  not  feel  it  the  less  because  they  are  con- 
senting parties. 

Meditating  sometimes  upon  the  results  of  this 
tyranny,  I  have  thought  to  myself,  what  is  to  stop 
it  ?  in  a  state  of  further  developed  Christianity, 
unless,  indeed,  it  were  equally  developed  in  all 
minds,  there  may  be  only  more  room  for  this  tyranny. 
And  then  this  strange,  but  perhaps  just,  idea  came 
into  my  mind,  that  this  t\Tannv  would  fall  away 
in  a  state  of  clearer  knowledge  such  as  might  accom- 
pany another  state  of  being  ;  for  then,  the  secrets 
of  men's  hearts  not  being  profoundly  concealed  by 
silence,  or  by  speech,  it  would  be  seen  what  the 
sufferers  tliought  of  these  tyrannous  proceedings  ; 
and  the  tyrants  would  slirink  back,  abashed  at  the 
enormity  of  their  requisitions,  made  visible  in  the 
clear  mirror  of  anotlicr's  mind. 

A  common  form  of  this  tyrann}-  is  where  the 
tyrant  uses  a  name  of  great  potency,  sudi  as  that 
pf  soMie  relationship,  and  Iiaving  performed  few  or 
none  of  the  duties,  exacts  from  the  other  side  a 
mo8t  oppressive  tril)ut<' — ojjpressive,  even  if  the 
duties  liad  been  performed. 

There  is  one  rciason  for  putting  a  limit  to  the 
Bubwrvir-ncy  of  the  strong  to  the  weak,  which 
rejwoii,  if  fully  deveIo])ed,  might  do  more  at  times 
to  protect  tlm  strong  from  the  weak  than  anything 
I  know.  Surely  tin;  most  foolish  strong  person 
must  occ(isif)nally  have  glimpses  that  he  or  she 
cannot  HiUTifice  himself  or  herself  alonc! :  that,  in 
dealing    with    aiiotlicr     person,    you     are    in    some 


THE  mSERIES  OF  PRIVATE  LIFE        29 

measure  representing  the  outer  world  ;  and  ought  (to 
use  an  official  phrase)  to  govern  yourself  accord- 
ingly. We  see  this  in  managing  children  :  and  the 
most  weakly  indulgent  people  tind  that  they  must 
make  a  stop  somewhere,  -n-ith  some  perception, 
it  is  to  be  hoped,  that  the  world  will  not  go  on 
dealing  with  the  children  as  they  (the  indulgent 
persons)  are  doing  ;  and,  therefore,  that  they  are 
preparing  mischief  and  discomfort  on  one  side  or 
the  other  for  parties  who  are  necessarily  to  be 
brought  in  contact. 

The  soft  mud  carried  away  by  the  encroaching 
sea  cannot  say — '  I,  the  soft  mud,  am  to  be  the  only 
victim  to  this  element  ;  and,  after  I  a:n  gone,  it 
will  no  more  encroach  '.  No,  it  means  to  devour 
the  whole  land  if  it  can. 

Ah,  thought  I  to  myself,  how  important  are  such 
considerations  as  those  I  have  had  to-day,  if  we  could 
but  rightly  direct  them  ;  how  much  of  the  health 
and  wealth  of  the  world  depend  ujion  them  !  Even 
in  those  periods  when  '  laws  or  kings  '  could  do  pre- 
dominant good  or  predominant  ill,  the  miseries  of 
private  life  perhaps  outweighed  the  rest  ;  but  now, 
as  civilization  advances,  the  tendency  is  to  some 
little  amelioration  of  great  political  dangers  ;  while, 
at  the  same  time,  from  more  refinement,  more  intri- 
cacy of  affairs,  more  nervous  development,  more 
pretence  of  goodness,  more  resolve  to  have  every- 
thing quite  neat  and  smooth  and  safe,  the  miseries 
which  the  generality  of  men  make  for  themselves 
do  not  tend  to  decrease  unless  kept  down  by  a  con- 
tinual growth  of  wise  and  good  thoughts,  and  just 
habits  of  mind. 

Wlien  we  talk  of 

The  ills  that  laws  and  kings  can  cause  or  cure, 

our  thoughts  refer  only  to  the  functions  of  direct 
and  open  government ;  but  the  laws  which  regulate 


30  RETURNS  OF  SUFFERING 

the  intercourse  of  society,  public  opinion,  and,  in 
short,  that  almost  impalpable  code  of  thought  and 
actif)n  whicli  grows  up  in  a  very  easy  fashion  be- 
tween man  and  man,  and  is  clothed  with  none  of 
the  ordinary  dress  of  power,  may  yet  be  the  subtlest 
and  often  the  sternest  despotism. 

It  is  a  strange  fancy  of  mine,  but  I  cannot  help 
■wishing  we  could  move  for  returns,  as  their  phrase 
is  in  Parliament,  for  the  suffering  caused  in  any 
one  day,  or  other  period  of  time,  throughout  the 
world,  to  be  arranged  under  certain  heads  ;  and 
we  should  then  see  what  the  world  has  occasion  to 
fear  most.  What  a  large  amount  would  come  under 
the  heads  of  unreasonable  fear  of  others,  of  miser- 
able quarrels  amongst  relations  upon  infinitesimally 
small  subjects,  of  imaginary  slights,  of  undue  cares, 
of  false  shames,  of  absolute  misui\derstandings,  of 
unnecessary  paias  to  maintain  credit  or  re]nitation, 
of  vexation  tliat  we  cannot  make  others  of  the  same 
mind  with  ourselves.  What  a  wonderful  thing  it 
would  be  to  see  set  down  in  figures,  as  it  were,  how 
ingenuous  we  are  in  plaguing  one  another.  My 
own  private  opinion  is,  that  the  discomfort  caused 
by  injudicious  dress  worn  entirely  in  defeivnce,  as 
it  has  before  been  remarked,  to  the  most  foolish  of 
mankind,  in  fact,  to  the  tyrannous  majority,  would 
outweigh  many  an  evil  that  sounds  vctv  big. 

Tested  by  these  perfect  returns,  which  I  imagine 
might  be  made  by  the  angelic  world,  if  they  regard 
human  atTairs.  perhaps  our  everyday  shaving, 
severe  shirt -collars,  and  other  ridiculous  garments, 
are  efpiivalent  to  a  great  l"'nro|)ean  war  once  in 
seven  years  ;  and  we  should  liiul  thai  women's 
stays  did  about  as  much  harm,  i.e.  causc^d  as  much 
HufTering,  as  an  occasional  pestilence — say,  for 
instance,  the  cholera.  We  should  find  perhaps, 
that  the  vexationx  arising  from  the  income-tax 
were  nearly  etpiai  to  those  caiiscd  amongst  the  same 
chuw   of   sufferers    by   the    ill-natured    things    men 


VEXATIONS  AND  ANNOYANCES         31 

fancy  have  been  said  behind  their  backs :  and 
perhaps  the  whole  burden  and  vexation  resulting 
from  the  aggregate  of  the  respective  national  debts 
of  that  unthrifty  family,  the  European  race,  the 
whole  burden  and  vexation,  I  say,  do  not  come 
up  to  the  aggregate  of  annoyances  inflicted  in 
each  locahty  by  the  one  ill-natured  person  who 
generally  iniests  each  little  village,  parish,  house, 
or  community. 

There  is  no  knowing  what  strange  comparisons 
and  discoveries  I  should  in  my  fancy  have  been 
led  to — perhaps  that  the  love,  said  to  be  inherent 
in  the  softer  sex,  of  having  the  last  word,  causes 
as  much  mischief  as  all  the  tornadoes  of  the  Tropics  ; 
or  that  the  vexation  inflicted  by  servants  on  their 
masters  by  assuring  them  that  such  and  such  duties 
do  not  belong  to  their  place,  is  equivalent  to  all 
the  sufferings  that  have  been  caused  by  mad  dogs 
since  the  world  began.  But  my  meditations  were 
suddenly  interrupted  and  put  to  flight  by  a  noise, 
which,  in  describing  afterwards  in  somewhat  high- 
flown  terms,  I  said  caused  a  dismay  hke  that  which 
would  liaA^e  been  felt  if,  neglectful  of  the  proper 
periods  in  History,  the  Huns,  the  Vandals,  and  the 
Visigoths,  in  fact  the  unruly  population  of  the 
world,  had  combined  together  and  rushed  down 
upon  some  quiet,  orderly  cathedral  toA^Ti. 

In  short,  the  children  of  my  neighbom's  returning 
from  school  had  dashed  into  my  field,  tlieir  main 
desire  being  to  behold  an  arranged  heap  of  stones 
and  brick-bats  which,  after  being  diligently  in- 
formed of  the  fact  several  times  by  my  son  Leonard, 
I  had  learnt  was  a  house  he  had  lately  built. 

There  is  a  sort  of  freemasonry  among  children  ; 
for  these  knew  at  once  that  this  heap  of  stones  was 
a  house,  and  danced  roimd  it  with  delight  as  a  great 
work  of  art.  Now,  do  you  suppose,  to  come  back 
to  the  original  subject  of  my  meditations  to-day, 
that  the  grown-up  child  does  not  want  amusement, 


32  CHILD  NATURE 

when  you  see  how  greedy  children  are  of  it  ?  Do 
not  imagine  we  grow  out  of  that ;  we  disguise  our- 
selves by  various  solemnities  ;  but  we  have  none 
of  us  lost  the  child-nature  yet. 

I  was  glad  to  see  how  merry  the  children  could 
be  though  looking  so  blue  and  cold,  and  still  more 
pleased  to  find  that  my  presence  did  not  scare  them 
away,  and  that  they  have  no  grown-up  feeling  iis 
yet  about  trespsissing :  I  fled,  however,  from  the 
noise  into  more  quiet  quarters,  and  broke  up  tlie 
train  of  reflections  of  wliich  I  now  give  these  out- 
lines, hoping  they  may  be  of  use  to  some  one. 


CHAPTER  IV 

RETROSPECTION — TO   MY  DISTANT   BESCENDAXTS 

MrcH  retrospect  is  not  a  very  =afe  or  a  verv  ^rise 
thing :  still  there  are  times  when  a  man  mav  do 
well  to  look  back  upon  his  past  Hfe,  and  endeavour 
to  take  a  comprehensive  A"iew  of  it.  And  whether 
such  retrospect  is  wise  or  not.  it  cannot  be  avoided, 
as  our  reveries  must  sometimes  turn  upon  that  one 
life,  our  o-mi,  respecting  which  we  have  a  great 
number  of  facts  very  interesting  to  \is  and  thoroughly 
'within  our  ken.  The  process  is  curiously  different 
from  that  pursued  by  Alnaschar  in  The  Arabian 
Xights,  who  with  an  imaginary  spurn,  alas,  too  well 
interpreted  by  a  real  gesture,  disposed  at  once  of 
all  his  splendid  fortunes  gained  in  reverie.  In  this 
progress  of  retrospection  many  find  that  the  spurn 
is  real  as  well  a-s  the  fatal  gesture  which  reahzed  it, 
only  both  have  been  administered  by  the  rude 
world  instead  of  by  themselves  ;  the  fragments  of 
their  broken  pottery  lie  around  them  ;  and,  going 
back  to  fond  memories  of  the  past,  they  have  to 
reconstruct  the  original  reverie — the  dream  of  their 
vouth — the  proud  purpose  of  their  manhood — how 
iFumiled  ! 

'Walldng  up  and  do«-n  amidst  the  young  fir-trees 
in  the  httle  plantation  to  the  north-east  of  the 
garden,  and.  occasiona,lly.  ^;\-ith  all  the  interest  of  a 
young  planter,  stopping  in  front  of  a  particular 
tree,  and  inspecting  this  year's  gro^\-th,  I  got  into 


34]  MY  DESCENDANTS 

such  a  train  of  retrospect  as  I  have  just  spoken  of  ; 
and  from  that,  by  a  process  which  wiU.  be  visible 
to  the  reader,  was  soon  led  into  thoughts  about  the 
future. 

I  pictured  to  myself  a  descendant  of  mine,  a 
man  of  dilapidated  fortune,  but  still  owning  this 
house  and  garden.  The  few  adjoining  fields  he  will 
long  ago  have  j^arted  with.  But  he  loves  the  phvce, 
having  been  brought  up  here  by  liis  sad,  gentle 
mother,  and  ha\-ing  hved  here  with  his  young  sister, 
then  a  rapturous  imaginative  girl,  his  companion 
and  dehght.  Through  the  smallness  of  their  for- 
tune, and  consequently  the  narrow  circle  of  their 
acquaintances,  she  will  have  married  a  man  totally 
unfit  for  her  ;  the  romance  of  her  nature  has  turned 
somewhat  sour ;  and,  though  occasionally  high- 
minded,  she  is  very  pee\'ish  now,  and  is  no  longer 
the  companion  that  she  was  to  her  brother.  He 
just  remembers  liis  father  pacing  A\-ith  disturbed 
step  imder  these  trees  which  I  am  now  walking 
about.  He  recollects  before  his  father's  deatli, 
how  eagerly  the  fond  wife  used  to  wayhiy  and  open 
large  packets,  which  she  would  not  always  bring 
to  tlie  dying  man's  bed.  He  now  knows  them  to 
liave  been  law  pa])ers  :  and  when  he  thinks  of  these 
things,  he  utters  harsh  words  about  the  iniquity 
of  the  law  in  England  ;  and  says  something  about 
law  growing  in  u])on  a  falling  estate  like  fungus 
upon  old  and  failing  wood. 

TlicKc  things  arc  now  long  past:  they  occurred 
in  his  childliood.  His  mother  is  dead  and  lies  in 
that  quiet  churchyard  in  tlie  wood,  wiiere,  if  I 
mistake  not,  one  of  his  ancestors  will  also  have 
found  a  peaceful  nstinti-place.  The  house  has 
fully  partaken  of  the  falling  fortunes  of  its  suc- 
cessive owners.  The  furniture  is  loo  old  and  worn 
for  any  new  comer  to  be  tempted  to  occupy  the 
hou.se;  and  the  little  garden  is  let  to  a  market- 
gardener.     Straw  lx;rrie8    will    grow    then    on    the 


MY  DESCEXD.4XTS  35, 

turf  where  I  am  now  walking,  and  which  John^ 
after  mowing  it  twice  in  the  week,  and  having 
spent  all  liis  time  in  its  vicinity,  from  working-day 
morning  till  working-day  night,  comes  to  look  at 
on  a  Simday,  and  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  himself  arrayed  in  a  waistcoat  too  bright  almost 
to  behold,  surveys  intently,  as  if  it  were  one  of  the 
greatest  products  of  human  invention.  And  John 
need  not  be  ashamed  of  this  single-minded  delight 
in  his  work,  for,  though  it  is  nothing  remarkable 
in  England,  the  whole  continent  of  Europe  does, 
not  probably  afford  such  a  well-shaven  bit  of  grass  ; 
and,  as  for  our  love  of  gardens,  it  is  the  last  refuge 
of  art  in  the  minds  and  souls  of  many  EngUslunen  : 
if  we  did  not  care  for  gardens,  I  hardly  know  what 
in  the  way  of  beauty  we  should  care  for.  Well, 
this  has  all  ceased  by  that  time  to  be  pleasure- 
garden,  and  I  fear  to  think  of  the  profane  cabbages 
which  will  then  occupy  this  trim,  velvety  httle 
spot.  I  hope  that  poor  John  from  some  distant 
place  will  not  behold  the  profanation. 

I  have  lingered  on  these  details  ;  but  I  must 
now  bring  my  distant  descendant  nearer  to  us. 
He  will  live  in  some  large  town,  getting  his  bread 
in  a  humble  way,  and  will  sometimes  steal  do\^'n 
here,  pretending  to  want  to  know  whether  anybody 
has  apphed  to  take  the  tumble-down  place.  That 
is  what  he  savs  to  his  wife  (for  of  course  being  so 
poor  this  foolish  Milverton  has  married)  but  she 
understands  him  better  than  to  be  deceived  by 
that. 

He  has  just  made  one  of  these  excursions,  having, 
for  economy's  sake  and  a  wish,  to  avoid  the  neigh- 
bours, got  out  at  a  station  ten  miles  off  (our  cathe- 
dral town)  and  walked  over  to  his  house.  It  is 
evening,  and  he  has  just  arrived.  Tired  as  he  is, 
he  takes  a  turn  roimd  the  garden,  and  after  a  long. 
drawn  sigh,  which  I  know  well  the  words  for,  he 
enters  the  house.     The  market-gardener  lives  in  it, 


36  ilY  DESCENDANTS 

and  his  wife  takes  care  of  the  master's  rooms.  She 
has  lighted  a  fire  :  the  smoke  hardly  ascends,  but 
still  there  is  warmth  enough  to  call  out  much  of 
the  latent  dampness  of  the  apartment.  The  tilings 
about  him  are  somewhat  cheerless  certainly,  but 
he  would  not  wish  them  to  be  otherwise.  They 
would  be  very  inharmonious  if  they  were.  During 
his  meagre  supper,  he  is  entertained  \\-ith  an  account 
of  the  repairs  that  must  be  looked  to.  The  water 
comes  in  here,  and  part  of  the  wall  has  fallen  down 
there  ;  and  farmer  Smith  says  (the  coarse  woman 
need  not  have  repeated  the  very  words)  that  if  Mr 
MiJverton  is  too  poor  to  mend  his  own  fence,  he, 
farmer  Smith,  must  do  it  himself.  Patiently  the 
poor  man  appears  to  attend  to  all  this,  but  is  think- 
ing all  the  while  of  his  pale  mother,  and  of  his 
wondering,  as  a  child,  why  she  never  used  to  look 
up  when  horse  or  man  went  by,  as  she  sat  working 
at  that  bay  window,  and  getting  his  clothes  ready 
for  school 

At  last  the  market -gardener's  wife,  little  at- 
tended to,  bounces  out  of  the  room  ;  and  her  abrupt 
departure  rou-ses  my  distant  descendant  to  think  of 
ways  and  means.  And  here  I  cannot  help,  as  if  I 
were  present  at  the  reverie,  breaking  in  and  sajnng 
*  Do  not  cut  down  that  yew  tree  in  the  back  garden, 
the  stately  well-grown  one  which  was  an  ancient 
tree  in  my  time  '.  But  no,  upon  second  thoughts, 
I  will  say  nothing  of  the  kind.  '  Cut  it  down,  cut 
tlierii  all  down,  dear  distant  descendant,  rather  than 
let  little  tradesmen  want  their  money,  or  do  the 
least  dishonourable  thing  '. 

Apparently,  the  present  question  of  ways  and 
means  is  settled  somehow,  for  he  rises  and  paces 
abdut  the  room.  In  a  comer  there  lies  an  aged 
Parliamentar\'  report,  a  remnant  from  my  old 
library,  the  bulk  of  which  has  long  been  sold.  It 
is  the  report  of  a  Select  Committee  upon  the  effect 


MY  DESCENDANTS  37 

on  prices  of  the  influx  of  Califomian  gold.  There 
are  some  side  notes  which  he  takes  to  have  been 
mine  ;  and  tliis  makes  him  think  of  me — not  very 
kindly.  These  are  his  thoughts — This  ancestor 
of  mine,  I  see  he  busied  himself  about  many  worldly 
things  ;  it  is  not  likely  that,  taking  an  interest  in 
such  affairs,  he  would  not  have  cared  to  have  some 
hand  in  managing  them  ;  I  conjecture  that  indeed, 
if  only  from  one  sa\-ing  of  his,  that  the  bustle  of 
life,  if  good  for  httle  else,  at  least  keeps  som'^  sad- 
ness down  at  the  bottom  of  the  heart ;  and  yet^I 
do  not  find  that  our  estate  prospered  much  under 
him.  He  might  now,  if  he  had  been  a  prosperous 
gentleman,  have  bought  some  part  of  Woodcot 
Chase  (which  was  sold  in  his  time  and  is  now  all 
building  ground),  and  I  should  not  have  been  in 
this  cursed  plight. 

'  Distant  descendant,  do  not  let  misfortune  make 
you,  as  it  so  often  does  make  men,  migenerous  '. 

He  feels  this  and  resumes.  I  wonder  why  he 
did  not  become  rich  and  great.  I  suspect  he  was 
very  laborious.  ("  You  do  me  full  justice  there  '.) 
I  suppose  he  was  very  versatile,  and  did  not  keep 
to  one  thing  at  a  time.  ( '  Y"ou  do  me  injustice  there  ; 
for  I  was  always  aware  how  much  men  must  limit 
their  efforts  to  effect  anything  ').  In  his  books  he 
sometimes  makes  shrewd  worldty  remarks  wliich 
show  he  imderstood  something  of  the  world,  and  he 
ought  to  have  mastered  it. 

'  Now,  my  dear  young  relative,  allow  me  to  say 
that  last  remark  of  yovu-s  upon  character  is  a  very 
weak  one.  Admitting,  for  the  sake  of  argument, 
that  what  you  urge  in  my  favour  be  true,  you  must 
know  that  the  people  who  \yTite  slu'ewdly  are  often 
the  most  easy  to  impose  upon,  or  have  been  so.  I 
almost  suspect,  'nithout,  however,  ha^-ing  looked 
into  the  matter,  that  Rochefoucault  A\as  a  tender 
lover,  a  warm  friend,  and.  in  general,  a  dupe  (happy 
for  him)  to  all  the  impulses  and  affections  A\hich 


38  MY  DESCENDANTS 

he  would  have  us  imagine  he  saw  through  and  had 
"mastered.  The  simple  write  shrewdly :  but  do 
not  describe  what  they  do.  And  the  hard  and 
worldly  would  be  too  wse  in  their  generation  to 
■wTite  about  what  they  practise,  even  if  they  per- 
ceived it,  which  they  seldom  do,  lacking  delicacy 
of  imagination. 

Perhaps  (he  continues)  this  ancestor  of  mine 
had  no  ambition,  and  did  not  care  about  anything 
but  that  unwholesome  scribbling  ('  ungracious 
again,  distant  descendant  !  ')  which  has  brought 
us  in  but  little  produce  of  any  kind. 

Dear  distant  kinsman,  now  it  is  my  turn  to  speak  ; 
now  listen  to  mc  ;  and  I  wll  show  you  the  family 
failing,  not  a  very  uncommon  one,  which  has  re- 
duced us  by  degrees  to  this  sad  state  ;  for  we,  your 
ancestors,  look  on  and  suffer  with  you. 

I  am  afraid  we  must  own  that  we  were  of  that 
foolish  class  of  men  \\'ho  never  can  say  a  hearty 
good  Avord  for  themselves.  You  might  put  a 
^lilverton  in  the  most  favourable  position  in  the 
world,  you  might  have  made  him  a  bishop  in 
•Cieorge  the  Second's  time,  or  a  minister  to  a  Spanish 
king  in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  still  he  would 
have  contrived  to  shullle  awkwardly  out  of  wealth 
and  dignities,  when  the  right  timc^  came  for  self- 
assertion  and  for  saying  a  stout  word  for  his  own 
cause,  or  for  that  of  his  kith  and  kin. 

'Vox  faucibuB  ha'sit '  ;  the  poor,  simple  fellow 
Avas  almost  inaudible;  and,  muttering  something, 
Mas  supposed  to  say  just  that  which  he  did  not. 
1  foresaw,  therefore,  that  unless  some  .Milverton 
■were  by  good  fortune  to  marry  into  a  sturdy, 
pushing  family  (which  would  \h'.  better  for  him  than 
any  amount  of  j)resent  fortune)  if  was  all  over 
with  the  race,  as  far  as  worldly  j)rosi)erity  is  eon- 
eemcd.  And  so  it  seems  to  be.  If  you  feel  that  you 
are  free  from  this  defect,  I  will  ensure  you  fortune. 


^lY  DESCENDANTS  39 

Talk  of  cutting  down  the  yew- tree  ;  not  a  stick  of 
the  plantation  need  be  touched,  and  I  already  see 
deep  belts  of  new  wood  rise  roimd  newly-gained 
acres.  Only  be  sure  that  you  really  can  stand  up 
stoutly  for  yourself. 

I  see  what  you  are  thinking  of — that  passage  in 
Bacon  (and  it  pleases  me  to  find  that  you  are  so  far 
well-read,  though  you  have  sold  the  books)  where 
he  says  that  there  are  occasions  when  a  man  needs 
a  friend  to  do  or  say  for  him  what  he  never  can  do 
or  say  so  well,  or  even  at  all,  for  himself.  True  : 
but,  my  simple-minded  relative,  have  you  li^ed  to 
the  age  of  twenty-seven,  and  not  discovered  that 
Phcenixes  and  Friends  are  creatures  of  the  least 
proUfic  nature  ?  Not  that,  adopting  your  misan- 
thropic mood.  I  would  say  that  there  are  no  such 
creatures  as  friends,  and  that  they  are  not  potent 
for  good.  A  man's  friend,  however,  is  ill,  or  travel- 
ling, or  powerless  ;  but  good  self-assurance  is  always 
within  call. 

You  are  mute  :  you  feel  then  that  you  are  guilty 
too.  Be  comforted ;  perhaps  there  is  some  island 
of  the  blest  where  there  vdU  be  no  occasion  for 
pushing.  Once  this  happened  to  me,  that  a  great, 
fierce,  obdurate  crowd  were  jiushing  up  in  long  line 
towards  a  door  which  was  to  lead  them  to  some 
good  thing ;  and  I,  not  Uking  the  crowd,  stole  out 
of  it,  having  made  up  my  mind  to  be  last,  and  was 
leaning  indolently  against  a  closed-up  side  door  : 
when,  all  of  a  sudden,  this  door  opened,  and  I  was 
the  first  to  walk  in,  and  saw  arrive  long  after  me 
the  men  who  had  been  thrusting  and  struggUng 
round  me.  Tliis  does  not  often  happen  in  the  world, 
but  I  think  there  was  a  meaning  in  it. 

But  now  no  more  about  me.  We  have  to  think 
what  is  to  be  done  in  your  case. 

You  labour  imder  a  retiring  disposition,  you  are 
married,  and  you  -^^-ish  to  retrieve  the  family  for- 
tunes.    This  is  a  full  and  frank  statement  of  your 


40  MY  DESCENDANTS 

case,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  is  a  very  bad 
one,  requiring  \nse  and  energetic  remedies.     First, 
you  must  at  once  abandon  all  those  pursuits  which 
depend  for  success  upon  relined  appreciation.     You 
must  seek   to   do   something  which   many  people 
demand.     I  cannot  illustrate  what  I  mean  better 
than  by  telling  j'ou  what  I  often  tell  my  publisher, 
whenever  he  sjjeaLs  of  the  slackness  of  trade.    There 
is  a  confectioner's  shop  next  door,  w  liich  is  thronged 
with  people  :    I  beg  him  (the  publisher)  to  draw  a 
moral  from  this,  and  to  set  up,  himself,  an  eating 
house.     That  would    be  appealing  to   the   miiUon 
in  the  right  way.     I  tell  him  he  could  hire  me  and 
others  of  his  '  eminent  hands  '  to  cook  instead  of 
to  write,  and  then,  instead  of  living  on  our  \\its 
(slender  diet  indeed  !),  we  ourselves  should  be  able 
to  l)uy  books,  and  should  become  great  patrons  of 
literature.     I  did  not  tell  him,  because  it  is  not  wise 
to  run  down  authors  in  the  presence  of  pubhshers, 
what  I  may  mention  to  you,  that  many  of  us  would 
be  much  more  wisely  and  wholesomely  emj)ioyed 
in  cooking  than  in  writing.     But  this  is  notliing  to 
you.     What  1  want  you,  dear  distant  kinsman,  to 
perceive,  is,  that  you  must  at  once  cultivate  some- 
thing which   is  in  general   demand.     Emigrati-,  if 
you    like,    and   cultivate    the   ground.     Cattle   are 
always  in  some  demand,  if  only  for  tallow.     It  is 
better  to  provide  the  fuel  for  the  lamp  than  those 
productions  vhich  arc  said  to  .smell  mo.st  of  it.     I 
cannot   enter  into  details  with  you  ;     because  I  do 
not   foresee  what  will   Im;  the  flourishing  trades  in 
your  time.     I  can  onl}'  give  you  general  iulvice. 

One  of  the  great  aids,  or  hindrances,  to  success 
in  anything  lies  in  the  temjK'ranient  of  a  man.  I 
do  not  know  yours  ;  but  J  venture  to  jioint  out  to 
you  wliut  is  the  I)c.st  tenijMTamcnt,  namely,  a  com- 
liin.iticm  of  the  clesfxmding  and  llu;  resolute,  or, 
lis  I  hud  better  exjiress  it,  of  the  apjirclicDsive  and 
the   resolute.     Such   is   the   tomi)crament   of  great 


MY  DESCENDANTS  41 

commanders.  Secretly,  they  rely  upon  nothing 
and  upon  nobody.  There  is  such  a  jjowerful  ele- 
ment of  failure  in  all  human  affairs,  that  a  shrewd 
man  is  ah^-ays  sapng  to  liimself,  what  shall  I  do, 
if  that  which  I  count  upon,  does  not  come  out  as 
I  expect.  This  foresight  dwarfs  and  crushes  all 
but  men  of  great  resolution. 

Then  be  not  over-choice  in  looking  out  for  M'hat 
may  exactly  suit  you  ;  but  rather  be  ready  to  adopt 
any  opportunities  that  occur.  Fortime  does  not 
stoop  often  to  take  any  one  up.  Favourable  oj^por- 
tunities  wiU  not  happen  precisely  in  the  way  that 
you  have  imagined.  Nothing  does.  Do  not  be 
discouraged,  therefore,  bj'  a  present  detriment  in 
any  course  which  may  lead  to  something  good. 
Time  is  so  precious  here.  t 

Get,  if  you  can,  into  one  or  other  of  the  ruain 
grooves  of  human  affairs.  It  is  all  the  difference 
of  going  by  railway,  and  walking  over  a  ploughed 
field,  whether  you  adopt  common  courses,  or  set 
up  one  for  yourself.  You  vvill  see,  if  your  times 
are  an^'thing  hke  ours,  very  inferior  persons  highly 
placed  in  the  ai-my,  in  the  church,  in  office,  at  the 
bar.  They  have  somehn\\-  got  upon  the  line,  and 
have  moved  on  well  with  very  little  original  motive 
power  of  their  own.  Do  not  let  this  make  you  talk 
as  if  merit  were  utterly  neglected  in  these  or  any 
professions  :  only  that  getting  well  into  the  groove 
will  frequently  do  instead  of  any  great  excellence. 

My  sarcastic  friend,  Ellesmere,  whom  you  will 
probably  know  by  repute,  as  a  great  Chief-Justice, 
or  Lord  Chancellor,  says,  with  the  utmost  gra^-ity, 
that  no  man  with  less  than  a  thousand  pounds  a 
year  (I  wonder  whether  in  your  times  you  will  think 
that  a  large  or  a  small  income)  can  afford  to  have 
private  opinions  upon  certain  important  subjects. 
He  admits  that  he  has  known  it  done  upon  eight 
hundred  a  year  ;  but  onlj^  by  very  prudent  people 
with  small  families.?!  i 


42  MY  DESCENDANTS 

But  the  night  is  coining  on,  and  I  feel,  my  dear 
descendant,  as  if  I  should  like  to  say  something 
more  solemn  to  you  than  these  worldly 
maxims. 

Whatever  happens,  do  not  be  dissatisfied  vnth 
your  worldly  fortunes,  lest  that  speech  bo  justly 
made  to  you,  which  was  once  made  to  a  repining 
person  much  given  to  talk  of  how  great  she  and 
others  had  been.  '  Yes,  Madam,'  was  the  crushing 
reply,  '  we  all  find  our  level  at  last '. 

Eternally  that  fable  is  true,  of  a  choice  being 
given  to  men  on  their  entrance  into  life.  Two 
majestic  women  stand  before  you  :  one  in  rich 
vesture,  superb,  with  what  seems  like  a  mural  crown 
on  her  head  and  plenty  in  her  hand,  and  something 
of  triumph,  I  ^\■ill  not  say  of  boldness,  in  her  eye  ; 
and  she,  the  queen  of  this  world,  can  give  you  many 
things.  The  other  is  beautiful,  but  not  alluring, 
nor  rich,  nor  powerful ;  and  there  are  traces  of 
care  and  shame  and  sorrow  in  her  fiice  ;  and  (mar- 
vellous to  say)  her  look  is  downcast  and  yet  noble. 
She  can  give  you  nothing,  l)ut  she  can  make  you 
somebody.  If  you  cannot  bear  to  j)art  from  her 
sweet  sublime  countenance  which  hardly  veils  i\ith 
sorrow  its  infinity,  follow  her :  follow  her,  I  say, 
if  you  arc  really  minded  so  to  do  ;  but  do  not, 
while  you  are  on  this  track,  look  back  with  ill- 
concealed  envy  on  tlic  glittering  things  which  fall 
in  the  path  of  those  who  prefer  to  follow  the  rich 
damt!,  and  to  pick  uji  the  riches  and  honours  which 
fall  from  her  cornucopia. 

This  is  in  suijstance  what  a  true  artist  said  to 
me  f)nly  tlu;  other  day,  ini|)atient,  as  ho  told  mo, 
of  the  coMiplaints  of  those  who  would  pursue  art, 
and  yet  would  have  fortune. 

Hut,  indeed,  all  moral  writings  teem  with  this 
remark  in  one  form  or  other.  You  cannot  have 
incrjUsiHtent  advantages.  Do  not  shun  this  maxim 
because  it  is  commonplace.     On  the  contrary,  take 


MY  DESCENDANTS  43 

the  closest  heed  of  what  observant  men,  who  would 
probably  like  to  show  originaUty,  are  yet  constrained 
to  repeat.  Therein  hes  the  marrow  of  the  wisdom 
of  the  world.  Such  things  are  wiser  than  proverbs, 
which  are  seldom  true  except  for  the  occasion  on 
which  they  are  used,  and  are  generally  good  to 
strengthen  a  resolve  rather  than  to  enlighten  it. 

These  latter  words  of  mine  fall  upon  an  in- 
attentive ear ;  for  my  distant  descendant,  who 
has  been  gradually  becoming  more  composed  during 
the  progress  of  this  moral  essay,  at  last  falls  quite 
asleep.  Perhaps  the  great  triumph  of  all  moral 
wTitings,  including  sermons,  is  that  at  least  they 
have  produced  some  sweet  and  innocent  sleep. 

Poor  fellow  !  I  now  see  how  careworn  he  seems, 
though  not  without  some  good  looks,  which  he  owes 
to  liis  great  great  great  grandmother,  of  whom,  as 
he  lies  there,  he  puts  me  much  in  mind.  He  ought 
to  thank  me  for  those  good  looks,  and  to  admit 
that  winning  some  beauty  for  the  family  is  at  least 
as  valuable  as  that  Woodcot  Chase  which  he  thinks 
I  ought  to  have  laid  hold  of.  But  our  unfair 
descendants  never  think  of  anything  in  our  favour  : 
this  gout  and  that  asthma  and  those  mortgages  are 
all  remembered  against  us  ;  we  hear  but  little  on 
the  other  side. 

Sleep  on,  dear  distant  progeny  of  mine,  and  I 
will  keep  the  night  watches  of  your  anxious  thought. 


CHAPTER  V 

STATESMEN   AJTD    REFORMS — LITERATURE 

These  companions  of  my  solitude,  my  reveries, 
take  many  forms.  Sometimes,  the  nebulous  stuff 
out  of  which  they  are  formed,  comes  together  with. 
some  method  and  set  purpose,  and  may  be  com- 
pared to  a  heavy  cloud — then  they  will  do  for  an 
essay  or  moral  chscourse  ;  at  other  times,  they  are 
merely  like  those  sportive  disconnected  forms  of 
vapour,  which  are  streaked  across  the  heavens, 
now  like  a  feather,  now  like  the  outline  of  a  camel, 
doubtless  obeving  some  law  and  with  some  design, 
but  such  as  mocks  our  observation  ;  at  other  times 
again,  they  arrange  themselves  hke  those  fleckered 
clouds  where  all  the  heavens  are  regularly  broken 
up  in  small  divisions  h'ing  evenly  over  each  other 
with  light  between  each.  The  result  of  this  last- 
mentioned  state  of  reverie  is  well  brought  out  in 
conversation  :  and  so  I  am  going  to  give  the  reader 
an  account  of  some  talk  which  I  had  lately  with  my 
friend  Ellesmere. 

Once  or  twice  before,  I  have  used  this  name 
EUesmere  as  if  it  were  familiar  to  others  as  to 
myself.  It  is  to  be  found  in  a  book  edited,  as  it 
appears,  by  a  neighbouring  clergyman,  named 
Dunsford,  who  was  obliging  and  laborious  enough 
to  set  down  some  conversations  in  A\-hich  he,  Elles- 
mere and  myself  took  part ;  and  which  he  called 
Friend's  in  Council.     There  is  no  occasion  to  refer 


46  STATESMEN  AND  REFORMS 

to  this  book  to  understand  EUesmere  :  a  man  soon 
shows  himself  by  his  talk,  if  he  does  by  anything. 
Moreover  the  averao;e  reader  will  find  the  book  a 
somewhat  sober,  not  to  say  dull,  affair,  embracing 
such  f|uc.stions  as  slavery,  government,  manage- 
ment of  the  poor,  and  such  like.  The  reader,  how- 
ever, who  is  not  the  average  reader,  may  perhaps 
find  something  worth  agreeing  with,  or  differing 
from,  in  the  book. 

I  flatter  myself  that  last  sentence  is  very  sldlful. 
The  poor  publisher,  or  rather  his  head  man,  com- 
plains sadly  that  not  even  the  usual  amount  of 
advertisement,  not  to  speak  of  puflfing,  is  allowed 
to  liim,  the  good  clergyman  having  a  jicouliar  aver- 
sion to  such  modes  of  dealing,  and  believing  that 
good  books,  if  there  were  such  things,  should  be 
sought  after,  and  not  ])oked  in  the  faces  of  pur- 
cliasers  like  Jews'  penknives  at  coach  doors.  By 
this  delicate  piece  of  flattery,  for  each  reader  will 
secretly  conclude  that  he  is  above  the  average  and 
hasten  to  buy  the  book,  I  shall  have  done  more 
than  many  ])u(T8  direct.  Therefore  be  at  ease, 
man  of  business,  the  avenues  to  thy  sliop  will  be 
thronged.  I  can  utter  this  i)roj)hecy  with  the 
more  confidence  as  the  shop  in  (piestion  is  in  the 
hifrh  road  to  the  (ireat  Kxliibition. 

Well,  my  friend  Eliesnicre  was  with  me  for  a 
day ;  we  were  lounging  about  the  garden  ;  the 
great  black  dog  wliich  I  always  let  loo.so  when 
EUesmere  is  here,  to  })l(\is('  liim,  was  slowly  follow- 
ing us  to  and  fro,  hangiii'.;  out  his  large  tongue, 
and  wisliinc  we  would  sit  down,  hut  still  not  being 
al)l('  to  resist  foliowint;  us  aI)out ;  when  EUesmere 
suddenly  inlcrniplcd  somcliiing  I  was  saying  with 
the.s(!  wordn  '  Tin-  ijiicstion  between  us  almost 
comes  to  tills  :  yo'i  \\ant  a  sheep-dog.  1  am  satis- 
fied with  a  watch-dog — Kollo  will  do  for  ine  ;  and, 
as  you  Hvc,  he  is  content  with  my  ai)proljation  '. 

TliLs   abruj)t   Hpeech   reijuires   some   ex])lanation. 


STATESMEN  AND  REFORMS  47 

I  had  been  talking  about  some  matters  connected 
with  statesmanship,  and  stricturing,  perhaps  too 
severely,  some  recent  acts  of  government,  in  wliich, 
as  I  said,  I  detected  some  of  the  worst  habits  of 
modern  pohcy  —  a  mixture  of  rashness  and  inde- 
cision— meddling  and  doing  nothing — spending^ 
as  I  added,  most  of  the  powder  for  the  flash  in  the 
pan.  Then  I  went  on  to  deplore,  that  always 
statesmanship  appeared  to  come  upon  the 
stage  too  late.  Is  nothing  ev^er  to  be  done  in 
time  ?  1 

A  good  deal  of  what  I  said  is  true,  I  think,  but 
ought  to  be  taken  cu7n  grano  ,  as  they  say  ;  for 
men  who  have  lived  a  good  deal  in  active  hfe,  and 
are  withdrawn  from  it,  are  apt  to  comment  too 
severely  on  the  conduct  of  those  who  are  left  be- 
hind. They  forget  the  difficulty  of  getting  any- 
thing done  in  this  perplexed  world,  and  their  own 
former  difficulties  in  that  way  are  softened  by  dis- 
tance. It  was  well  that  Ellesmere  interrupted  me. 
The  conversation  thus  j^roceeded. 

MUverton.  Yes,  that  is  the  point.  I  confess  I 
should  like  something  of  the  sheep-dog  in  a  ruler. 
I  think  we,  of  all  nations,  can  bear  judicious  inter- 
ference and  regulation  ;  we  should  not  be  cramped 
by  it. 

Ellesmere.  In  a  representative  government  is 
the  folly  of  the  governed  to  find  no  place  ? 

MUverton.  Yes,  but,  my  good  friend,  you  need 
not  be  anxious  to  provide  for  that.  FoUy  will  find 
a  place  even  at  the  side  of  princes.  That  was  the 
thing  symbohzed  by  great  men's  jesters.  But, 
putting  sarcasm  aside,  Ellesmere,  I  don't  mean  to 
blame  present  men  so  much  as  present  doctrin?s 
and  systems.  Some  of  the  men  in  power,  or  likely 
to  be,  in  this  country,  are  very  honest  capable 
brave  men,  fuU  of  desire  to  do  good.     But  they 

1  Written  in  1850. 


48  STATESMEN  AND  REFORMS 

have  too  little  power,  or  rather  they  meet  wth  too 
much  obstructioa.  Now,  it  is  not  wise  to  swathe 
a  creature  uj)  like  a  foreign  baby,  and  then  say, 
Exert  yourself,  govern  us,  let  there  be  no  delay. 

EUesmere.  The  amount  of  obstruction  is  over- 
estimated. If  a  ruling  man  wanted  to  do  any- 
thing good,  I  think  he  could  do  it,  though  I  do 
admit  that  there  are  large  powers  of  obstruction 
to  be  encountered. 

Milverton.  I  do  believe  you  are  right.  A  states- 
man might  venture  to  be  greater  and  bolder  than 
his  position  or  apparent  power  quite  warrants. 
And  if  he  were  to  fall,  he  \\ould  fall — and  there  an 
end. 
L-  Ellesmere.     And  no  such  great  damage  either. 

Milverton.  But  to  return  to  your  watch-dog 
and  sheep-dog.  There  are  two  things  \  cry  different 
■demanded  from  statesmen  :  one,  carrying  on  the 
routine  of  office  ;  the  other,  originating  measures, 
setting  the  limits  within  which  private  exertion 
should  act.  You  do  not  mean  to  contend,  Elles- 
mere, that  it  would  not  have  been  wise  for  a  govern- 
ment to  have  interfered  witli  railway  legislation 
■earlier  and  more  efficiently  than  it  did. 

Ellesmere.  No — few  people  know  better  than  I 
■<lo  t!ie  immense  loss  of  time,  money,  laliour,  temper 
nml  liappine.ss  whicli  might  ha\e  been  saved  in  that 
matter. 

MilvcrUm.  Now  look  again  on  Sanitary  measures. 
Consider  the  years  it  hius  taken;  and,  for  aught  I 
know,  may  yet  take,  to  get  a  Smoke  Prohibition 
Bill  f)assod.  If  such  a  thing  is  wise  and  possible, 
let  us  have  it  ;  if  not,  tell  us  it  cannot  l)e  done.  I 
ha\i' t.iken  instances  in  pliysical  tilings  just  as  they 
•occurred  to  me  :  I  mi^ht  have  alluded  to  higher 
matters  which  are  left  in  tlie  same  way,  to  see  what 
will  happen,  to  wait  for  th(^  lireezes,  perhaps  the 
rstorms,  of  popular  agitation. 

Ellcsmirv.     l'eoi)Ie  in  authority  are  aa  fearful  of 


STATESMEN  AND  REFORMS  49 

attacking  any  social  evil  as  men  are  of  cuttin? 
down  old  trees  about  their  houses.  There  is  always 
something,  however,  to  be  said  for  the  old  trees. 

Milverton.  It  would  mostly  be  better,  though, 
to  cut  them  down  at  once,  and  begin  to  plant 
som3thing  at  the  proper  distance  from  their 
hou^^es. 

Ellesmere.  Well,  Milverton,  there  is  one  thing 
you  must  remember,  and  that  is,  that  intelligent 
men  writing  or  talking  about  government  are  apt 
to  fancy  themselves,  or  such  men  as  themselves, 
in  power  ;  and  so  are  inchned  to  be  very  Uberal 
in  assigning  the  limits  of  that  power.  Let  them 
fancy  some  of  the  foohsh  people  they  know  in  this 
imaginary  position  of  great  power  ;  and  then  see 
how  the  intolligent  men  begin  to  shudder  at  the 
thought  of  this  power,  and  to  desire  very  secure 
Hmits  for  it,  and  very  narrow  space  for  its  exercise. 

Milverton.  Intelhgent  public  opinion  will  in 
these  days  prevent  vigorous  action  in  a  minister 
from  hardening  into  despotism. 

ElUsmere.  Please  repeat  that  again,  my  friend. 
'  Intelligent  pubUc  opinion '  ?  Were  those  the 
words  :    did  I  catch  them  rightly  ? 

Milverton.  You  did.  There  is  such  a  thing, 
EUesmere.  It  is  not  the  first  opinion  heard  in 
the  country  ;  it  is  not  always  loud  on  the  hust- 
ings :  but  surely  there  are  a  great  number  of  per- 
sons in  a  country  hke  this,  wlio  try  to  think  and 
eventually  form  intelhgent  pubhc  opinion.  I  ' 

Ellesmere.  I  am  afraid  they  are  not  a  very 
active  body. 

Milverton.  Not  the  most  active ;  but  they 
come  in  at  some  time. 

EUesmere.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  impertinent, 
but  do  any  of  these  people  who  ultimately  (ulti- 
mately, I  hke  that  word)  form  intelhgent  pubhc 
opinion,  live  in  the  country  ?  T  can  imagine  a 
retired  'wisdom    in    some    Court    in    London,    say 


50  STATESMEN  AXD  REFORMS 

Pump  Court  for  instance,  but  I  cannot  fancy  the 
blowsy  ■v^isdom  of  the  country. 

Milverton.     Now,  Ellesmere,  do  not  be  provoking. 

Ellesmere.  I  am  all  gravity  again :  but  just 
allow  me  to  jiropomid  one  little  theory,  namely, 
that  it  is  when  the  retked  wisdom  of  to\v-n  is  re- 
vivified by  country  air  (on  a  visit)  it  is  apt  to 
develope  itself  into — what  is  it — oh — '  intelligent 
public  opinion  '. 

Milvtrton.  Now,  as  you  have  had  your  joke, 
I  will  proceed.  I  have  a  theory  that  the  tem- 
perament and  habits  of  mind  of  individual  states- 
men have  a  good  deal  to  do  with  government.  I 
do  not  yet  beheve  that  we  are  all  compoimded 
into  some  great  machine  of  wliich  you  can  exactly 
calculate  the  results. 

Ellesmere.  What  is  your  pet  temperament  for 
a  statesman  ? 

Milverton.  That  is  a  large  question  :  one  thing 
I  should  be  inclined  to  say,  with  respect  to  his 
habit  of  mind  —  he  should  doubt  till  the  last, 
and  then  act  like  a  man  who  has  never 
doubted. 

Ellesmere.  Cleverly  put,  but  untrue,  after  the 
fashion  of  you  maxim-mongers.  He  should  not 
act  like  a  man  who  has  never  doubted,  but  like 
a  man  who  was  in  the  hai)it  of  doul)ting  till  he 
had  received  suflicicnt  information.  He  should 
not  convey  to  you  tlie  idcui  of  a  man  who  was 
given  to  doubt,  or  not  to  doubt ;  but  of  one  who 
could  wait  till  lie  had  enquired. 

Milverton.  Your  criticism  is  just.  Well,  then, 
another  tiling  which  occurs  to  me  respecting  his 
haliits  of  mind  is,  that  he  should  be  one  of  those 
people  wlio  are  not  given  to  any  system,  and  yet 
who  have  an  exc('cdin<(  love  of  improvement  and 
disposition  to  regulate. 

Ellisttwrc.  Tliat  is  good.  1  distrust  systems. 
J    lind    that   men    talk   of   principles ;    and   mean, 


states:mex  and  literature      51 

when  you  come  to  enquire,  rules  connected  -n-ith 
certain  systems. 

Milverton.  This  enables  me  to  bring  my  notions 
of  government  interference  to  a  point.  It  should 
be  a  principle  in  a  statesman's  mind  that  he  should 
not  interfere  so  as  to  deaden  private  action :  at 
the  same  time  he  should  be  profoundl}-  anxious 
that  right  and  good  should  be  done,  and  conse- 
quently not  fear  to  undertake  responsibihty.  He 
should  not  be  entrapped,  mentally,  into  any  sys- 
tem of  pohcy  which  held  him  to  interfere  here,  or 
not  to  interfere  there  ;  but  he  should  be  inclined 
to  look  at  each  case  on  its  own  merits.  This  is 
very  hard  work.  Systems  save  trouble — the 
trouble  of  thinking. 

Ellesmere.  There  is  some  sense  in  what  you  say. 
If  we  talk  no  more  about  statesmanship,  and  to 
tell  the  truth  I  am  rather  tired  of  the  subject,  our 
dialogue  -n-ill  end  like  the  dialogues  in  a  book, 
where,  after  much  sham  stage -lighting,  the  author's 
opinion  is  always  made  to  prevail.  By  the  wfiy, 
I  dare  say  you  think  that  the  nursery  for  Statesmen 
is  Literature  ;  and  that  in  these  days  of  Railways, 
a  short  hne  from  Grub  to  Do^^^ling  Street  (a  single 
set  of  rails,  as  no  one  ^^•ill  want  to  return)  is  im- 
peratively needed. 

Milverton.  Xo,  I  do  not.  I  think  that  good 
Literature,  like  any  other  good  work,  gives  notice 
of  material  out  of  which  a  statesman  might  choose. 
To  make  a  good  book,  my  dear  friend,  is  a  very 
hard  thing,  1  suspect.  I  do  not  mean  a  work  of 
genius.  Of  course  such  are  very  rare.  But  to 
give  an  account  of  any  transaction ;  to  put  for- 
ward any  connected  views  ;  in  short  to  do  any 
mere  hterary  work  well ;  it  requires  many  of  the 
things  which  tend  to  make  a  good  man  of  business 
— industry,  for  iastance,  method,  clearness,  resolve, 
power  of  adaptation. 

Ellesmere.     Yes,  no  doubt :    foreign  nations  seem 


52    STATESMEN  AND  LITERATURE 

to  have  profited  so  much  from  calling  literary  men 
to  their  aid,  that — 

Jliherton.  That  is  an  imjiist  sneer,  Ellesmere. 
Some  of  the  writings  of  the  men  to  whom  I  know 
you  allude,  do  not  fulfil  the  condition  of  being  good 
books ;  are  full  of  false  antitheses,  illogical  con- 
clusions, vapid  assertions,  and  words  arranged 
according  to  prettiness,  not  to  meaning.  Such 
books  are  beacons  ;  they  tell  all  men,  the  people 
Avlio  wrote  us  are  sprightly  fellows,  but  cannot  be 
trusted,  they  love  sound  more  than  sense,  pray 
do  not  trxist  them  with  any  fvmction  requiring 
sense  rather  than  sound. 

But  you  are  not  to  conclude  bcca'.ise  some  men 
make  use  of  Literature,  jierhaps  the  only  way 
open  to  them  of  carr^nng  their  %-iews  into  action, 
thr.t  they  could  not  act  themselves.  Napoleon 
was  always  writing  early  in  hfe  ;  Csesar  indited 
books,  even  a  grammar  ;  a  whole  host  of  captains 
and  statesmen  in  the  sixteenth  centur\'were  wTiters. 
Follow  Cervantes.  Mendoza,  Sidney,  Canioens, 
Descartes,  Paul  Louis  Courier,  to  the  field  ;  and 
come  hack  witli  them,  if  you  ever  do  come  back 
alive,  you  individual  clothed  ^^•ith  horsehair  and 
auflrtcity  ;  and  then  follow  them  to  their  studies 
and  see  whether  they  cannot  give  a  good  account 
of  tliemsclves  in  both  departments. 

KUesmere.  Pistol  is  come  back  again  on  earth, 
or  lioTnbast<'s  Furioso,  neither  of  wliose  characters 
fits  \scll  uj)()n  you.  But,  my  friend,  we  are  wont 
in  l.iw  to  look  to  tlie  j)nint  at  is.sue  ;  we  were  talk- 
inir  (if  statesmen,  not  of  soldiers. 

Milvrrton.     MachiavelH — 

ISlleftinere.     That  worthy  man  ! 

MilrerUm.  Ca-sar  again  !  Lorenzo  de'  Medici, 
Janifs  tlie  First  of  Scotland,  MiUon,  B.icon,  Grotius, 
tShaftcsbuty,  Soniers,  St  John,  Temple,  Burke. 
And  were  I  to  rack  my  brains,  or  my  books,  X 
could  no  doubt  make  an  ample  list. 


STATESMEN  AND  LITERATURE        53 

Ellesmerc.  Good,  bad,  and  indifferent :  here 
they  come,  altogether. 

Milverton.  And  have  there  been  no  bad  statesmen 
amongst  those  who  had  no  tinotui'e  of  letters  ? 

Ellesmere.     One  or  two,  certainly. 

Milverton.  You  know,  Ellesmere,  I  have  never 
talked  loudly  of  the  claims  of  literary  men,  and 
have  always  maintained  that  for  them,  especially 
when  they  are  of  real  merit,  to  complain  of  neglect, 
is  for  the  most  part  absurd.  A  great  writer,  as  I 
think  ]Mr  Carlyle  has  well  said,  creates  a  want  for 
himself — a  most  artificial  one.  Nobody  wanted 
him  before  he  appeared.  He  has  to  show  them 
what  they  want  liim  for.  You  might  as  weU  talk 
of  Leverrier's  planet  ha\ang  been  neglected  in 
George  the  Second's  time.  It  had  not  been  dis- 
covered :    that  is  all. 

There  may  be  misunderstandings  as  to  the  nature 
of  hterary  merit,  as  indeed  of  all  merit,  which  may 
prevent  worldly  men  from  making  due  use  of  it  in 
worldly  affairs.  For  instance,  I  should  say  that 
diplomatic  services  are  services  peculiarly  fit  to  be 
performed  by  hterary  men.  They  are  likely  to  be 
more  of  cosmoi^olites  than  other  men  are.  Their 
various  accomplishments  serve  them  as  means  of 
attaching  others  in  strange  countries.  Their  ob- 
servations are  likely  to  be  good.  One  can  easily 
see  that  a  great  deal  of  their  habitual  work  would 
come  into  play  in  such  employments.  And  there 
is  an  appearance  of  hardship  in  not  giving,  at  least 
occasionally,  to  men  who  are  particularly  shut  out 
from  most  worldly  advantages,  those  offices  which 
they  i^romise  to  be  most  fitted  for. 

Ellesmere.  It  would  improve  many  a  literary 
man  greatly  to  have,  or  to  have  had,  some  real 
business. 

Milverton.  No  doubt.  Indeed,  I  have  always 
thought  it  is  a  melancholy  tiling  to  see  how  shut 
up,  or  rather  I  should  say,  how  t%visted  and  de- 


54         STATESaiEN  AND  LITERATURE 

formed  a  man  becomes  by  surrendering  himself 
to  any  one  art,  science,  calling,  or  culture.  You 
see  a  person  become  a  la^^yer,  a  physician,  a  clergy- 
man, an  author,  or  an  artist ;  and  cease  to  be  a 
man,  a  wholesome  man,  fairly  developed  in  aU 
ways.  Each  man's  art  or  function,  however 
ser\-iceable,  should  be  attached  to  him  no  more 
than  to  a  soldier  his  sword,  which  the  accom- 
plished mihtary  man  can  lay  aside,  and  not  even 
remind  you  that  he  has  ever  worn  such  a  thing. 

EUesmere.  An  idea  strikes  me  :  I  see  how 
hterary  men  may  be  rewarded,  hterature  soundly 
encouraged,  and  yet  the  author  be  injured  the 
least  possible  by  his  craft.  Hitherto  we  have 
given  pensions  for  what  a  man  has  wTitten.  I 
would  do  this  ;  I  would  ascertain  when  a  man  has 
acquired  that  lamentable  facility  for  doing  second- 
rate  things  which  is  not  uncommon  in  literature 
as  in  other  branches  of  life,  and  then  I  would  say 
to  him,  I  see  you  can  wTite,  here  is  a  hundred  a 
year  for  you  as  long  as  you  are  quite  quiet.  In- 
deed, I  think  pensions  and  honours  should  gener- 
ally be  given  to  the  persons  Avho  could  have  done 
the  thinps  for  which  such  rewards  are  given,  but 
who  have  not  done  them.  I  would  ;-!ay  to  this 
man.  You  have  great  parliamentary  influence, 
yf)U  did  not  use  it  for  mere  party  purposes  ;  here 
is  a  jieerajre  for  you.  You,  turning  to  another 
man.  might  have  become  a  great  lawyer,  or  rather 
a  lawyer  in  great  place,  you  had  too  much — 

Milrerton.      Modenty — 

EUesmere.  Pooh,  non.sense  !  modesty  never  did 
anybody  any  harm.  No.  let  ine  go  on  with  my 
speecli.  You  liad  too  much  honesty,  or  scrupu- 
louRnesfl,  to  escape  In-ing  thrown  out  for  the  borough 

of which   (aa  a  lawyer  to  get  on  in  the  highest 

oflfices  must  please  a  constituency  as  well  as  imder- 
Btnnd  his  business)  was  fatal  to  you.  Here,  how- 
ever, is  ji  baronetcy  for  vou. 


STATESilEN  AND  LITERATURE  55 

Here,  you,  ilr  ■\Iilverton,  you  might  have  written 
two  books  a  year  (dreadfiil  thought!)  you  have 
not  always  inflicted  one  upon  us.  Be  Guelphed 
and  consider  yourself  well  off.  Keep  yourself 
quiet  for  several  years,  and  we  may  advance  you 
further. 

Oh,  what  a  patron  of  arts  and  letters  is  lost  in 
me  !  Now  this  dog  can  bark  and  make  a  horrible 
noise  to  distinguish  himself  ;  he  does  not  do  it — 
that  is  why  I  "like  you  so  much,  my  dear  Rollo, 
(at  that  instant,  unluckily,  Rollo  taking  heed  of 
Ellesmere's  comical  gestures  and  seeing  that  some- 
thing was  addressed  to  him,  began  to  frisk  about 
and  bark).  Oh,  dear  me,  I  see  one  can't  praise 
or  encourage  any  creature  without  doing  mischief. 

Milverton.  You  have  not  to  reproach  yourself 
for  having  done  much  in  this  way. 

Ellesmere.  Too  much— sadly  too  much.  But 
here  comes  John  with  a  solicitous  face,  to  get 
your  orders  about  planting  the  trees  which  came 
last  night,  and  which  ought  to  have  been  put  in 
early  this  morning.  Attend  to  them ;  they  are 
your  great  works  ;  some  of  them  may  live  to  a 
remote  posterity ;  and,  while  you  are  about  it, 
my  good  fellow,  do  put  in  something  which  will 
produce  eatables.  Those  fir  cones  are  very  pretty 
things,  but  hard  to  eat.  Remember  that  a  certain 
learned  gentleman  who  hopes  to  Uve  to  a  good  old 
age,  is  very  fond  of  mulberries  ;  and  if  some  trees 
■were  put  in  now,  he  might  have  something  good  to 
eat  when  he  comes  into  the  country,  and  be  able 
to  refresh  himself  after  delivering  judicious  opinion 
on  all  subjects. 

So  we  separated,  I  to  my  trees,  and  EUosmera 
to  take  the  dog  out  for  a  walk. 


CHAPTER  VI 

CHANCE      FELICITIES — THE      GREAT     SIN     OF     GREAT 
CITIES — REMEDIES    FOR   THIS 

I  RESOLVED  to-day  to  go  out  into  the  neighbouring 
pine-wood  alone,  to  con  over  some  notes  which  I 
am  anxious  to  read  by  myself,  with  only  an  occa- 
sional remark  from  a  wood  pigeon,  or  what  may  be 
gained  from  the  gliding,  rustling  squirrel.  There 
is  scarcely  anything  in  nature  to  be  compared  with, 
a  pine-wood,  I  think.  I  remember  once  when, 
after  a  long  journey,  I  was  approaching  a  city  en- 
nobled by  great  works  of  art,  and  of  great  renown, 
that  I  had  to  pass  through  what  I  was  told  by  the 
guide-books  was  most  insipid  country,  only  to  be 
hurried  over  as  fast  as  might  be,  and  nothing  to 
be  thought  or  said  about  it.  But  the  guide-books, 
though  very  clever  and  useful  things  in  their  way, 
do  not  know  each  of  us  personally,  nor  what  we 
secretly  hke  and  care  for.  Well,  I  was  speeding 
thi-ough  this  '  uninteresting  '  country,  and  now 
there  remained  but  one  long  dull  stage,  as  I  read, 
to  be  gone  through  before  I  could  reach  the  much- 
■nished-for  city.  It  was  necessary  to  stay  some 
time  (for  we  travelled  vetturino  fashion)  at  the 
little  post-house,  and  I  walked  on,  promising  to  be 
in  the  way  whenever  the  vehicle  should  overtake 
me.  The  road  led  tlirough  a  wood,  chiefly  of  pines, 
varied,  however,  occasionally  by  other  trees. 
Into  this  wood  I  strayed.     There  was  that  almost 


58  CHAXCE  FELICITIES 

indescribably  soothing  noise  (the  Romans  would 
have  used  the  word  '  susurrus  '),  the  aggregate  of 
many  gentle  movements  of  gentle  creatures.  The 
birds  hopped  but  a  few  paces  off,  as  I  approached 
them  ;  the  brilliant  butterflies  wavered  hither  and 
tiiither  before  me  ;  there  was  a  soft  breeze  that 
■dav,  and  the  tops  of  the  tall  trees  swayed  to  and 
fro  politely  to  each  other.  I  found  many  delightful 
resting-places.  It  was  not  all  dense  wood  ;  but 
here  and  there  were  glades  (such  open  spots  I  mean 
as  would  be  cut  through  by  the  sword  for  an  army 
to  pass)  ;  and  here  and  there  stood  a  clump  of 
trees  of  different  heights  and  foliage,  as  beautifully 
arranged  as  if  some  triumph  of  the  art  of  landscape 
had  been  intended,  though  it  was  only  Nature's 
way  of  healing  up  the  gaps  in  the  forest.  For  her 
healing  is  a  new  beauty. 

It  was  verj''  warm,  without  which  nothing  is 
beautiful  to  me  ;  and  I  fell  into  the  pleasantest 
train  of  thought.  The  easiness  of  that  present 
moment  .seemed  to  show  the  possibihty  of  all  care 
being  driven  away  from  the  world  some  day.  For 
thus  peace  brings  a  sensation  of  power  with  it.  I 
shall  not  say  what  I  thought  of,  for  it  is  not  good 
ah\ay8  to  Ije  communicative  ;  but  altogether  that 
hour  in  the  pine-wood  was  the  happiest  hour  of  the 
whole  journey,  though  I  saw  many  grand  pictures 
and  noble  statues,  a  mighty  river  and  buildings 
■which  were  built  when  people  h-ul  their  own  dear 
thoughts  of  what  they  meant  to  do  and  how  they 
would  do  it.  TJut  in  seeing  these  things  there  is, 
so  to  speak,  something  that  is  official,  that  must 
be  done  in  a  set  way  ;  and  aft<'r  all,  it  is  the  chance 
felicities  in  minor  things  which  are  so  pleasant  in 
a  journey,  ^'ou  had  intended,  for  instance,  to  go 
and  hear  some  great  seiviee,  and  there  was  some- 
tliing  to  be  done,  and  a  crowd  to  be  encountered 
and  you  open  your  window  and  find,  as  the  warm 
air  streams  in,  that  l)eautiful  sounds  come  with  it; 


CHANCE  FELICITIES  59 

in  truth  your  -window  is  not  far  off  from  an  opening 
in  one  of  the  cathedral  windows,  and  there  you 
stay  drinking  in  all  the  music,  being  alone.  You 
feel  that  a  bit  of  good  fortune  has  happened  to  you  : 
and  you  are  happier  all  the  day  for  it. 

It  is  the  same  thing  in  the  journey  of  life  :  pleasure 
falls  into  no  plan. 

I  think  I  have  justified  my  liking  for  a  pine- 
wood  ;  and  though  the  particular  wood  I  can  get 
at  here  is  but  a  poor  thing  as  compared  with  the 
great  forests  I  have  been  thinking  of,  yet,  looked 
at  with  all  the  reminiscence  of  their  beauties,  its 
few  and  mean  particulars  are  so  wrought 
upon  by  memory  and  fancy,  that  it  brings 
before  me  a  sufficient  picture,  half  seen,  half 
recollected,  of  all  that  is  most  beautiful  in  sylvan 
scenery. 

To  my  wood  then  I  wandered  ;  and,  after  pacing 
up  and  down  a  little,  and  enjoying  the  rich  colour 
of  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  I  sat  down  upon  a  tree 
that  had  been  lately  felled,  and  read  out  my  notes 
to  myself.  Here  thej'  are.  They  begin,  I  see, 
with  a  little  narration,  which  however  is  not  a  ba,d 
beginning. 

It  was  a  bright  winter's  day ;  and  I  sat  upon 
a  garden  seat  in  a  sheltered  nook  towards  the 
south,  having  came  out  of  my  study  to  enjoy  the 
warmth,  like  a  fly  that  has  left  some  snug  cre^^ce 
to  stretch  his  legs  upon  the  unwontedly  siuuiy  pane 
in  December.  My  little  daughter  (she  is  a  very 
little  thing  about  four  years  old)  came  running  up 
to  me,  and  when  she  had  arrived  at  my  knees, 
held  up  a  straggling  but  pretty  weed.  Then,  with 
great  earnestness  and  as  if  fresh  from  some  con- 
troversy on  the  subject,  she  exclaimed  '  Is  this  a 
weed,  Papa  ;   is  this  a  weed  '  ? 

'  Yes,  a  weed  '  I  replied. 

With  a  look  of  disappointment  she  moved  off 


60  CHANCE  FELICITIES 

to  the  one  she  loved  best  amongst  us  ;  and,  asking 
the  same  question,  received  the  same  answer. 

'  But  it  has  flowers  '  the  child  rephed. 

'  That  does  not  signify  ;  it  is  a  weed  '  was  the 
inexorable  answer. 

Presently,  after  a  moment's  consideration,  the 
child  ran  oflf  again,  and  meeting  the  gardener  just 
near  my  nook,  though  out  of  sight  from  where  I 
sat,  she  coaxingly  addressed  him. 

'  Nicholas  dear,  is  this  a  weed  '  ? 

'  Yes,  miss,  they  call  it  "  Shepherd's  purse  "  '. 

A  pause  ensued :  I  thought  the  child  was  now 
fairly  silenced  by  authority,  when  all  at  once  the 
little  voice  began  again  '  Will  j'^ou  plant  it  in  my 
garden,  Nicholas  dear  ?   do  plant  it  in  my  garden  '. 

There  was  no  resisting  the  anxious  entreaty  of 
the  child ;  and  man  and  child  moved  oflf  together 
to  plant  the  weed  in  one  of  those  plots  of  ground 
which  the  cliikken  walk  about  ujwn  a  good  deal, 
and  ])ut  branches  of  trees  in  and  gro^vn-up  flowers, 
and  then  examine  the  roots,  (a  system  Jis  encourag- 
ing as  other  systems  of  education  I  could  name) 
and  w  liich  they  call  their  gardens. 

But  the  child's  words  '  will  you  ])lant  it  in  my 
garden  '  remained  upon  my  mind.  '  That  is  what 
I  have  always  been  thinking  '  I  exclaimed  :  and 
it  is  what  1  will  begin  by  saying. 

Ami,  imlced,  d(!ar  reader,  if  1  wcmo  to  tell  you 
liow  hmg  1  liave  i)een  thinking  of  the  subject  wliich 
I  moan  to  preface  by  the  f:hild's  fond  words  ;  and 
how  lioiM'lcHs  it  has  at  times  appeared  to  mo  to  say 
anything  wortli  hearing  aliout  it ;  and  how  I  have 
still  dung  to  my  resolve,  and  worked  on  at  other 
things  with  a  view  of  coming  eventually  to  this, 
you  would  sympathi/.c  with  mc;  alrciuiy,  as  wo  do 
with  any  man  who  kc(5ps  a  task  long  in  mind  and 
heart,  though  ho  execute  it  at  last  but  jKmrly,  and 
though  it  bo  but  a  poor  task,  such  as  a  fortune  for 


THE  GREAT  SIN  61 

himself,  or  a  tomb  for  his  remains.     For  we  hke 
to  see  a  man  persevere  in  anything. 

Without  more  preface  then  I  will  say  at  once 
that  this  subject  is  one  which  I  have  been  wont 
to  call  '  the  great  sin  of  great  cities  ' — not  that  in 
so  calling  "tt,' T'  have  perhaps  "been  strictly  just, 
but  the  description  will  do  well  enough.  For  what 
is  the  thing  which  must  so  often  diminish  the  pride 
of  man  when  contemplating  the  splendid  monu- 
ments of  a  great  city,  its  shops,  its  public  build- 
ings, parks,  equipages,  and  above  all,  the  wonderful 
way  in  wliich  vast  crowds  of  people  go  about  their 
affairs  with  so  little  outward  contest  and  confu- 
sion ?  I  imagine  the  beholder  in  the  best  parts 
of  the  town,  not  di^dng  into  narrow  streets,  Avander- 
ing  sickened  and  exhausted  near  uncovered  ditches 
in  squahd  suburbs,  or  stucUously  looking  behind 
the  tarilhant  surface  of  things.  But  what  is  it  ■ 
wliich  on  that  very  surface,  helping  to  form  a  part 
of  the  brilhancy  (like  the  prismatic  colours  seen  on 
stagnant  film)  conveys  at  times  to  any  thoughtful 
mind  an  impression  of  the  deepest  mournfulness, 
a  perception  of  the  dark  blots  upon  human  civiliza- 
tion, in  a  word,  some  appreciation  of  the  great  sin  of 
great  cities  ?  The  vile  sewer,  the  offensive  factory 
chimney,  the  squalid  suburb  tell  their  own  tale 
very  clearly.  The  girl  with'  hardened  look  and  false, 
imprinted  smile,  tells  one  no  less  ominous  of  evil. 

In  fact  I  do  not  know  any  one  thing  which  con- 
centrates and  reflects  more  accurately  the  evils  of 
any  society  than  this  sin.  It  is  a  measure  of  the 
want  of  employment,  the  uncertainty  of  employ- 
ment, the  moral  corruption  amongst  the  higher 
classes,  the  want  of  education  amongst  the  lower, 
the  relaxation  of  bonds  between  master  and  ser- 
vant, employer  and  emjiloyed ;  and,  indeed,  it 
expresses  the  want  of  prudence,  truth,  light  and 
love  in  that  community. 


62  THE  GREAT  SIN 

In  considering  any  e\al,  our  thoughts  may  be 
classed  under  three  heads,  the  nature  of  it,  the 
causes  of  it,  the  remedies  for  it.  Often  the  dis- 
cussion of  any  one  of  these  great  branches  of  the 
subject  involves  the  other  two ;  and  it  becomes 
difficult  to  di%-ide  them  ^nthout  pedantry.  But 
in  general,  we  may,  for  convenience,  attend  to  such 
a  division  of  the  subject. 

I.  The  Natube 

The  nature  of  the  evil  in  this  case  is  one  wliich 
does  not  require  to  be  largely  dwelt  upon  ;  jxnd 
yet  several  things  must  be  said  about  it.  One 
which  occurs  to  me  is  the  degradation  of  race. 
Thousands  upon  thousands  of  beautiful  women  are 
by  it  condemned  to  sterility.  As  a  nation  we 
should  look  \nth  exceeding  jealousy  and  alarm  at 
any  occupation  wliich  claimed  our  tallest  men  and 
left  them  without  olTspring.  And.  surely,  it  is  no 
light  matter  in  a  national  point  of  view  that  any 
sin  should  claim  the  right  of  consuming,  sometimes 
as  rapidly  as  if  they  wore  a  slave  population,  a  con- 
siderable number  of  the  best-looking  persons  in 
the  community. 

How  slight,  however,  is  the  physical  degradation 
comi)arod  with  the  mental  degradation  caused  by 
tliis  sin  :  and  here  1  do  not  mean  only  the  dis- 
honour of  the  individuals,  but  the  large  social  in - 
jur>^  which  the  mere  existence  of  such  a  thing 
causes.  For  it  iR-customs  men  to  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  greatest  social  failures,  and  introduces 
habitually  a  low  view  of  the  highest  things.  Wo 
are  apt  to  look  at  each  individual  civso  too  harshly  ; 
but  the  whole  thing  is  not  looked  at  gravely  enough. 
This  often  hapj)cns  in  coasidering  any  great  social 
abuse  ;  and  so  we  frequently  commence  the  remedy 
by  some  great  injustice  in  a  particular  case. 


THE  GREAT  SIN  63 

In  appreciating  the  nature  of  this  evil,  the  feelings 
of  the  people  concerned  with  it  are  a  large  part  of 
the  subject.  On  the  one  side  are  shame,  pride, 
dejection,  restlessness,  hopelessness  and  a  sense  of 
ill-usage  resulting  in  a  bitter  effrontery,  a  mean 
heartlessness,  and  a  godless  remorse.  As  a  mere 
matter  of  statesmanship  such  a  class  requires  to 
be  looked  to  as  pre-eminently  dangerous.  On  the 
other  side,  is  often  the  meanness  without  the  shame  ; 
and  a  permanent  coarseness  and  imholiness  of 
mind  is  inflicted  upon  the  sex  that  most  requires 
refinement  and  spirituality  in  the  affections. 

To  return,  however,  to  a  consideration  of  the 
feelings  of  the  poor  women,  it  may  be  noticed  that 
they  have  an  excessive  fear  of  being  left  alone  with 
their  own  recollections,  wliich  is,  no  doubt,  a  great 
obstacle  to  their  being  reclaimed.  Withal  there  is 
something  very  grand  though  sad,  that  one  of  the 
main  obstacles  to  outward  imi^rovement  lies  in 
the  intensity  of  shame  for  the  ■\vrong-doing,  in  a 
dumb  but  profound  remorse.  You  may  see  similar 
feelings  operating  very  variously  among  the  greatest 
men  whose  spiritual  state  is  at  all  known  to  us. 
Poor  Luther  exclaims,  '  When  I  am  assailed  with 
heavy  tribulations,  I  rush  out  among  my  pigs, 
rather  than  remain  alone  by  myself.  The  human 
heart  is  like  a  millstone  in  a  mill  ;  when  you  put 
wheat  under  it,  it  turns  and  grinds  and  bruises  the 
wheat  to  flour  ;  if  you  put  no  wheat,  it  still  grinds 
on,  but  then  it  is  itself  it  grinds  and  wears 
away  '. 

Certainly  the  Gospel  seems  especially  given  to 
meet  these  cases  of  remorse  and  to  prevent  despair 
(not  the  tempter  but  the  slave-driver  to  so  many 
crimes)  from  having  an  unjust  and  irreligious  hold, 
not  so  much  on  men's  fears  as  on  their  fancies — 
especially  their  notions  of  perfection  as  regards 
themselves.  For  I  doubt  not  but  that  men  and 
women  much  lower  down  in  the  scale  of  cultivation 


64  THE  GREAT  SIN 

and  sensibility  than  we  imagine,  are  haunted  by  a 
sense  of  their  own  fall  from  what  they  feel  and  think 
thev  ought  to  have  been. 


n.  The  Causes 

The  main  cause  of  this  sin  on  the  woman's  part 
is  want — absolute  want.  Tliis.  though  one  of  the 
most  grievous  things  to  contemplate,  has  at  the 
same  time  a  large  admixture  of  hope  in  it.  For, 
surely,  if  civilization  is  to  make  any  sufficient 
answer  for  itself  and  for  the  many  serious  evils  it 
promotes,  it  ought  to  be,  that  it  renders  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  hfe  le'ss  extreme,  that  it  provides  a  re- 
source for  all  of  us  against  excessive  want.  Hitherto 
we  have  not  succeeded  in  making  it  do  so.  but  it  is 
contended  and  with  apparent  justice,  that  it  acts 
better  in  this  resi)eot  than  savage  life.  At  any 
rate,  to  return  to  the  main  course  of  mv  argument, 
it  is  more  satisfactory  to  hear  that  this  evil  is  a 
result,  on  one  side  at  least,  of  want  rather  than  of 
depra\-ity. 

The  next  gi-eat  cause  is  in  the  over-rigid  \news 
and  opinions,  especially  as  against  women,  expressed 
in  reference  to  unchastity.  Christianity  has  been 
in  some  measure  to  blame  for  this  ;  though,  if 
rightly  applied,  it  would  have  Ix-en  the  surest 
cure.  '  Publicans  and  sinners '  !  Such  did  He 
prefer  before  the  company  of  pharisees  and  hypo- 
crites. These  latter,  however,  have  been  in  great 
credit  ever  since  ;  and.  for  mv  part,  I  see  no  end 
to  their  being  pronounced  for  ever  the  choice 
society  of  the  world. 

The  virtuous,  carefully  tended  and  carefully 
brought  up,  ought  to  bethink  themselves  how  little 
thev  may  owe  to  their  own  merit  that  they  are 
\-irt!ious."  for  it  is  in  the  evil  concurrence  of  bad 
disposition  and  masterless  opportunity  that  crime 


THE  GREAT  SIN  65 

comes.  Of  course  to  an  evil -disposed  mind,  oppor- 
tunity will  never  be  wanting ;  but,  when  one 
person  or  class  of  persons  is  from  circumstances 
peculiarly  exposed  to  temptation,  and  goes  -wrong, 
it  is  no  great  stretch  of  charity  for  others  to  con- 
clude that  that  person,  or  class,  did  not  begin  with 
worse  dispositions  than  they  themselves  who  are 
still  without  a  stain.  Tliis  is  very  obvious  ;  but 
it  is  to  be  observed  that  the  reasoning  powers 
which  are  very  prompt  in  mastering  any  simple 
scientific  proposition,  experience  a  wonderful  halt- 
ing in  their  logic  when  apphed  to  the  furtherance 
of  charity. 

There  is  a  very  homely  proverb  about  the  fate 
of  the  pitcher  that  goes  often  to  the  water  which 
might  be  an  aid  to  charity,  and  which  bears  closely 
on  the  present  case.  The  Spaniards,  from  whom 
I  dare  say  we  have  the  proverb,  express  it  prettily 
and  pithily  : 

Cantarillo  que  muchas  vezes  va  a  la  fuente 

O  dexa  la  asa,  o  la  frente. 
The  little  pitcher  that  goes  often  to   the  foimtain, 
either  leaves  the  handle,  or  the  spout,  behind  some 
day. 

The  dainty  vase  which  is  kept  under  a  glass  case 
in  a  dra\ving-room,  should  not  be  too  proud  of 
remaining  without  a  flaw,  considering  its  great 
advantages. 

In  the  New  Testament  we  have  such  matters 
treated  in  a  truly  divine  manner.  There  is  no 
palliation  of  crime.  Sometimes  our  charity  is  so 
mixed  up  with  a  mash  of  sentiment  and  sickly 
feeling  that  we  do  not  know  where  we  are,  and 
what  is  vice  and  what  is  virtue.  But  here  are  the 
brief  stern  words,  '  Go,  and  sin  no  more  '  ;  but, 
at  the  same  time,  there  is  an  infinite  consideration 
for  the  criminal,  not  however  as  criminal,  but  a^ 

B 


66  THE  GREAT  SIN 

human  being ;  I  mean  not  in  respect  of  her  crimi- 
nahty  but  of  her  humanity. 

Now  an  instance  of  our  want  of  obedience  to 
these  Christian  precepts  has  often  struck  me  in 
the  not  visiting  married  women  whose  previous 
hves  will  not  bear  inspection.  Whose  will  ?  Not 
merely  all  Christian  people,  but  all  civilized  people, 
ought  to  set  their  faces  against  this  excessive  re- 
trospection. 

But  if  ever  there  were  an  occasion  on  which  men 
(I  say  men  but  I  mean  more  especially  women) 
should  be  careful  of  scattering  abroad  unjust  and 
severe  sayings,  it  is  in  speaking  of  the  frailties  and 
delinquencies  of  women.  For  it  is  one  of  those 
things  where  an  unjust  judgment,  or  the  fear  of 
one,  breaks  down  the  bridge  behind  the  repentant ; 
and  has  often  made  an  error  into  a  crime,  and  a 
single  crime  into  a  life  of  crime. 

A  daughter  has  left  her  home,  madly,  ever  so 
wickedly,  if  you  like,  but  what  are  too  often  the 
demons  tempting  her  onwards  and  preventing  her 
return  ?  The  uncharitaljle  speeches  she  has  heard 
at  home  ;  and  the  feeling  she  shares  with  most  of 
us,  that  those  we  have  lived  with  are  the  sharpest 
judges  of  our  conduct. 

^^'()uld  you,  tlicn,  exclaims  some  reader  or 
hearer,  take  back  and  receive  with  tenderness  a 
daughter  who  liad  erred  ?  '  Yes ',  I  reply,  '  if 
she  had  been  the  most  abandoned  woman  upon 
earth  '. 

A  foolish  family  pride,  often  adds  to  this  un- 
charitable way  of  feeling  and  speaking  which  I 
venture  to  reprehend.  Our  care  is  not  that  an 
ovil  and  an  imforlunate  thing  has  happened,  but 
tliat  cur  family  luus  bi>en  disgraced,  as  we  call  it. 
Family  vanity  mixes  up  with  and  exasperates 
rigid  virtue.  (Jood  Heavens,  if  we  could  but  see 
where  flisgrace  really  li(!s  ;  how  often  men  would 
be   ashamed  of   their   riclies   and   their   honours ; 


THE  GREAT  SIN  67 

and  would  discern  that  a  bad  temper,  or  an  irri- 
table disposition,  was  the  greatest  family  disgrace 
that  attached  to  them. 

A  fear  of  the  uncharitable  speeches  of  others  is 
the  incentive  in  many  courses  of  e^il ;  but  it  has 
a  peculiar  effect  in  the  one  we  are  considering,  as 
it  occurs  with  most  force  just  at  the  most  critical 
period — when  the  ^^ctim  of  seduction  is  upon  the 
point  of  faUing  into  worse  ways.  Then  it  is  that 
the  uncharitable  speeches  she  has  heard  on  this 
subject  in  former  days  are  so  many  goads  to  her, 
urging  her  along  the  downward  path  of  evil.  What 
a  strange  desperate  notion  it  is  of  men,  when  they 
have  erred,  that  things  are  at  the  \\orst,  that  noth- 
ing can  be  done  to  rescue  them :  whereas  Judas 
Iscariot  might  have  done  something  better  than 
hang  himself. 

But  if  we  are  all  so  kind,  exclaims  some  rigid 
man,  we  should  only  encom-age  the  evil  we  wish 
to  subdue.  He  does  not  see  tliat  the  first  step  in 
evil  and  the  abandonment  to  it  as  a  course  of  hfe 
l^roceed  mostly  from  totally  different  motives,  and 
are  totally  different  things.  One  who  dwelt  on  a 
secure  height  of  peace  and  ^-irtue,  has  fallen  sadly 
and  come  down  upon  a  table-land  plagued  with 
storms  and  liable  to  attacks  of  all  kinds,  and  from 
which  there  is  no  ascent  to  the  height  again ;  but 
which  is  still  at  an  immense  distance  above  a  cer- 
tain abyss  ;  and  we  should  be  verv  cautious  of 
doing  anything  that  might  make  the  foolish,  de- 
jected, pride-led  person  plunge  hopelessly  down 
into  the  abyss,  in  all  probability,  to  be  lost  for 
ever. 

Before  quitting  the  subject  of  the  family,  I  must 
obser\'e  that,  independently  of  any  harshness  of 
remark  wliich  a  young  person  may  have  been 
accustomed  to  hear  on  matters  connected  with  our 
present  subject,  the  ill -management  of  parents 
must  be  taken  into  account  as  one  of  the  most 


68  THE  GREAT  SIN 

common  causes  of  this  sin.     It  is  very  sad  to  be 
obliged  to  s^ny  this,  but  the  thing  is  true  and  must 
be  said.     We  must  not,  liowever,  be  too  much  dis- 
couraged at  this,  for  the  truth  is,  tliat  to  perform 
M'ell  any  one  of  the  great  rehations  of  Ufe  is  an 
jramense  difficulty  ;    and  when  we  see  on  a  tomb- 
stone (those  underneath  can  now  say  nothing  to 
the  contrary)  that  the  defunct  was  a  good  husband, 
father,   and  son,   we  may  conclude,  if  the  words 
•were  truthful,  that  we  are  passing  by  the  mortal 
remains    of    an    Admirable    Crichton    in    morality. 
And  these  relations  are  the  more  difficult,  as  they 
are  not  to  be  completel}'  fulfilled  by  an  abnegation 
of  self,  in  other  words  by  a  weak  giving  way  upon 
all  ])oints,  wliich  is  the  ruin  of  many  a  person.     I 
am  not,  however,  going,  in  this  particular  case,  to 
speak  of  the  spoiling  of  childi'en  in  the  ordinary 
sense,    but  rather  of  the  contrary  defect,   which, 
strange  to  say,  is  quite  as  common,  if  not  more  so. 
Of  necessity  the  ages  of  parents  and  cliildren  are 
separated   by   a   considcraltlo   interval ;     the    par- 
ticular relation  is  one  full  of  awe  and  authority; 
and  the  effect  of  that  disparity  of  years  and  of  that 
natural  awe  and  authority  may  easily  by  harsh  or 
un^'cnial   ])arents  be  strained  too  far;    other  per- 
sons and  the  world  in  general  (not  caring  for  the 
welfare  of  those  who  are  no  childn^n  of  theirs,  and 
besides  using  the  just  courtesy  towards  strangers) 
are  often  tolerant  wIk'u  parents  are  not  so,  which 
puts  th<!m  to  a  ffreat  disadvantage  ;    small  matters 
arc  oft<'n  needlessly  mad(;  subjects  of  daily  comment 
and  lilanu!  ;    and,  in  th(^  end,  it  comes  that  home  is 
sr)metimes  anything  but  th(!  happy  place  wo  chose 
1o  make   it   out  in   songs    and  fictions   of   various 
kinds.     This,    when  it  occurs,   is   a  great   pity.     I 
urn  for  making  home  very  happy  to  children  if  it 
<'an  be  manaj^'cd,  which  of  courst^  is  not  1o  be  done 
by  weak  compliances,   and  having  no  fixed  rules. 
For  no  creature  is  liappy,  or  even  free,  as  Goethe 


THE  GREAT  SIN  69 

has  pointed  out,  except  in  the  circuit  of  law.  But 
laws  and  regulations  having  once  been  laid  dowTi, 
all  ^Wtllin  those  bounds  should  be  very  kind  at 
home.  Now  hsten  to  the  captious  querulous 
scoldings  that  you  maj^  hear,  even  as  you  go  along 
the  streets,  addressed  by  parents  to  children,  is  it 
not  manifest  that  in  after  hfe  there  will  be  too 
much  fear  in  the  children's  minds,  and  a  behef 
that  their  father  and  mother  never  ^"ill  sympathize 
with  them  as  others  even  might,  never  will  forgive 
them.  People  of  all  classes,  high  and  low,  err  in 
the  same  way  ;  and  in  looking  about  the  world, 
I  have  sometimes  thought  that  a  thoroughly 
judicious  father  is  one  of  the  rarest  creatures  to  be 
met  with. 

Another  cause  of  the  frailty  of  women  in  the 
lower  classes  is  in  the  comparative  inelegance  and 
imcleanliness  of  the  men  in  their  own  class.  It 
also  arises  from  the  fondness  which  all  women 
have  for  merit,  or  what  they  suppose  to  be  such, 
so  that  their  love  is  apt  to  follow  what  is  in  any 
way  distinguished  :  and  tliis  throws  the  women 
of  any  class  cruelly  open  to  the  seductions  of  the 
men  in  the  class  above.  For  women  are  the  real 
aristocrats  ;  and  it  is  one  of  their  greatest  merits. 
IMen's  intellects,  even  some  of  the  brightest,  may 
occasionally  be  deceived  by  theories  about  equality 
and  the  like,  but  women,  who  look  at  reality 
more,  are  rarely  led  away  by  nonsense  of  this 
kind. 

A  cause  of  this  sin  of  a  very  different  kind,  and 
applying  to  men,  is  a  dreadful  notion  wliich  has 
occasionally  been  adopted  in  these  latter  ages, 
namely,  that  it  is  a  fine  thing  for  a  man  to  have 
gone  through  a  great  deal  of  vice — to  have  had 
much  personal  experience  of  wickedness — in  short, 
that  knowledge  of  ^^ce  is  knowledge  of  the  Avorld, 
and  that  such  knowledge  of  the  -norld  is  eminently 


70  THE  GREAT  SIN 

useful.     That  is  not  the  way  in  -which  the  greatest 
thinkers  read  the  world  ;   they  tell  us  that 

The  Gods  approve  the  depth  and  not  the  tumult  of 
the  soul. 

Self-restraint  is  the  grand  thing,  is  the  great  tutor. 

But  let  us  not  talk  insincerely  even  for  a  good 
end,  as  we  may  suppose  :  and  therefore  do  not  let 
us  deny  that  every  evil  carries  uith  it  its  teachings. 
An  indulgence  in  dissii)ation  teaches  that  dissipa- 
tion is  a  fatal  thing :  and  the  man  who  learns 
that,  very  often  does  not  learn  anything  more. 
But  the  excellence  of  particular  men  must  greatly 
consist  in  their  appreciating  truths  without  having 
to  pay  the  full  experience  for  them  ;  so  that  in 
those  respects  they  have  a  great  start  of  otho^r  men. 
However,  whether  these  theories  of  mine  be  true 
or  not,  there  can  be  no  doubt,  I  think,  that  indul- 
gence of  any  kind  is  a  thing  w  Inch  rccjuires  no  theory 
to  support  it ;  and  I  do  not  tliink  it  will  be  found 
that  the  men  of  consummate  knowledge  of  the 
Avorld  have  gained  that  knowledge  by  vice  ;  but 
rather,  as  all  other  knowledge  is  gained,  by  toil 
and  truth  and  love  and  self-restraint.  And  these 
four  things  do  not  abide  with  vice. 

Probably,  too,  a  low  view  of  humanity  which 
vice  gives,  is  in  itself  the  greatest  barrier  to  the 
highest  knowledge. 

On(!  great  source  of  the  sin  we  are  considering 
is  the  want  of  other  thoughts.  Hero  puritanism 
comes  in,  as  it  has  any  time  these  two  hundred 
years,  to  darken  and  deeiien  every  mischief.  The 
lower  orders  here  are  left  with  so  little  to  think  of 
but  lab<nir  and  vice.  Now  any  grand  thought, 
great  ])oetry,  or  noble  song  is  adverse  to  any  abuse 
of  the  jiassions — even  that  which  seems  most  con- 
cerned -Hith  the  jtassions.  For  all  thai  is  great  in 
idea,  that  insists  upon  men's  attention,  does  so  by 
an    apj)eal,    expressed    or   implied,    to   the   infinite 


THE  GREAT  SIN  71 

within  him  and  around  him.  A  man  com.ing  from 
a  great  representation  of  Macbeth  is  not  in  the 
humour  for  a  low  intrigue  :  and,  in  general,  vice, 
especially  of  the  kind  we  are  considering,  seizes 
hold  not  of  the  passionate,  so  much  as  of  the  cold 
and  vacant  mind. 

On  this  account  education  and  cultivation  are 
to  be  looked  to  as  potent  remedies.  The  pleasures 
of  the  poor  will  be  found  to  be  moral  safeguards 
rather  than  dangers.  I  smile  sometimes  when  I 
think  of  the  preacher  in  some  remote  country 
place  imploring  liis  hearers  not  to  give  way  to 
backbiting,  not  to  indulge  in  low  sensuahty,  and 
not  to  busy  themselves  ^ith  other  people's  affairs. 
Meanwhile  what  are  they  to  do  if  they  do  not  con- 
cern themselves  with  such  things  ?  The  heavy 
ploughboy  who  lounges  along  in  that  Hstless  manner 
has  a  mind  which  moves  with  a  rapidity  that  bears 
no  relation  to  that  outward  hea\-iness  of  his.  That 
mind  wiU  be  fed  ;  will  consume  all  about  it,  hke 
oxygen,  if  new  thoughts  and  aspirations  are  not 
given  it.  The  true  sfrategy  in  attacking  any  vice, 
is  by  putting  in  a  virtue  to  counteract  it ;  in  at- 
tacking any  evil  thoucrht,  by  putting;  in  a  good 
thought  to  meet  it.  Thus  a  man  is  lifted  into  a 
higher  state  of  being,  and  his  old  slough  falls  off  him. 
With  women,  too,  there  is  this  especial  danger 
that  fiction  has  liitherto  been  apt  to  teU  them  that 
they  are  nothing  if  they  are  not  loved,  and  to  fill 
their  heads  with  the  most  untrue  views  of  human 
life.  Fiction  must  try  and  learn  that  she  is  only 
Truth  w-jth.  a  mask  on,  so  that  she  may  speak  truer 
things  sometimes  with  less  offence  than  Truth 
herself.  Fiction  must  not  represent  love  as  always 
such  a  very  fine  thing,  or  as  tending  invariably  to 
fehcity,  thus  ignoring  the  trials  of  wedded  life, 
and  of  affection  generally — as  if  life  were  cut  into 
two  parts,  one  all  shade,  the  other  aU  hght.  We 
cannot  school  Love''much  ;   but  sometimes  he  might 


72  REMEDIES 

be  induced  to  listen  to  reason.  And  at  any  rate  all 
would  agree  that  much  mischief  may  be  done  by 
unsound  representations  of  human  hfe  in  this  verj' 
important  respect. 

But,  our  antagonist  may  say,  these  very  fictions 
are  amusement  and  so  far  of  use  as  furnishing 
Bome  food  for  the  mind.  Yes  :  and  I  am  not  pre- 
pared to  say  that  )jad  fictions  or  almost  anything 
may  not  be  better  than  nothing  for  the  mind. 
But  when  continuous  cultivation  is  joined  to  edu- 
cation, (which  should  be  the  object  for  statesmen 
and  governing  people  of  all  kinds)  people  will  not 
be  supposed  to  be  educated  at  the  time  of  their 
nonage,  and  then  left  sight  of  and  hold  of  for  ever- 
more, as  far  as  regards  their  betters.  But  it  will 
be  seen  that  we  are  all  so  far  children,  or  at  least 
like  children  in  some  respects,  throughout  our 
lives,  that  the  means  of  cultivation  should  be 
successively  offered  to  us. 

It  is  difficult  to  see  the  drift  of  the  foregoing 
words  without  an  example.  But  what  I  mean  is 
this— do  not  let  us  merely  teach  our  poor  young 
people  to  read  and  v^  rite  and  hear  about  all  manner  of 
arts,  sciences  and  jiroductions,  and  then  dropping 
these  young  peo])le  at  tlic  most  dangerous  age, 
provide  no  amusements,  enable  them  to  carry  on 
no  pursuits,  throw  oj)en  no  refinements  of  life  to 
them,  show  tlwrn  no  ])arks,  no  gardens,  and  leave 
them  to  the  pothouse  and  their  sordid  liomes. 

Of  course  they  will  go  wrong  if  we  do. 


III.  The  Remedies 

As  poverty  came  first  among  the  causes,  so  to 
remove  it  must  come  first  among  tho  remedies. 
For  this  purpoHo  let  it  lie  carefully  observed  what 
class  of  persons  furnishes  most  victims  to  this  ein. 
Try  and  mend  the  evils  of  that  class. 


REMEDIES  73 

There  will  be  two  kinds  of  poverty,  the  one 
arising  from  general  inadequacy  of  pay  for  em- 
ployment that  is  pretty  constant ;  the  other  from 
uncertainty  of  employment  at  particular  periods. 
Each  require  to  be  dealt  with  differently. 
Frequently,     though,    they    are    found    combined. 

To  meet  the  first  of  these  evils  more  work  must 
be  found  in  the  country,  or  some  hands  must  be 
removed  out  of  it. 

If  emigration  is  to  be  adopted,  it  should  be  done 
in  a  manner  different  from  any  that  has  yet  been 
attempted. 

But  it  seems  as  if  something  better  than,  or 
besides,  emigration  might  be  attempted. 

It  may  seem  romantic,  but  I  cannot  help  hoping 
that  considerable  investigation  into  prices  may  lead 
I^eople  to  ascertain  better  what  are  fair  wages,  and 
that  purchasers  will  not  run  madly  after  cheapness. 
There  are  everywhere  just  men  who  endeavour 
to  prevent  the  price  of  labourers'  wages  from 
falling  below  what  they  (the  just  men)  think  right. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  this  has  an  effect  upon  the 
whole  labour-market,  Christianity  coming  in  to 
correct  political  economy.  And  so,  in  other  matters, 
I  can  conceive  that  private  persons  may  generally 
become  more  anxious  to  put  aside  the  evils  of  com- 
petition, and  to  give,  as  well  as  get,  what  is  fair. 

But  many  things  might  be  done  to  enable  the 
wages  of  the  poor  to  go  further :  and  surely  the 
glory  of  a  state,  and  of  the  principal  people  in  it, 
should  be  that  men  make  the  most  of  their  labour 
in  that  state. 

Improvement  of  dwellings  is  one  means  ^ 

^  Many  a  workwoman  earns  but  7s.  a  week.  She 
has  to  pay  3s.,  or  3s.  Gd.  for  one  miserable  apartment. 
Take  her  food  at  3s.  or  28.  6d.  ;  and  there  will  remain 
Is.  a  week  to  provide  for  clothing,  sickness,  charity. 


74  REMEDIES 

Improvements  in  the  representation  and  transfer 
of  property  are  other  great  means  to  this  end. 

It  may  seem  that  I  have  wandered  far  from  the 
subject  (the  great  sin  of  great  cities)  to  questions 
of  currency  and  transfer  of  property.  But  I  am 
persuaded  that  there  is  the  closest  connexion  be- 
tween subjects  of  this  kind.  The  investment  of 
savings  is  surely  a  question  of  the  highest  import- 
ance. But  it  is  not  that  only  which  I  mean.  All 
manner  of  facilities  should  be  given  to  the  poor  to 
become  owners  of  property ;  and  wlierever  it  could 
be  managed,  almost  in  spite  of  themselves,  they 
should  be  made  so  :  that  is,  by  jiutting  by  por- 
tions of  their  wages  when  it  is  manifestly  possible 
for  this  to  be  done,  as  in  the  case  of  domestic 
servants  or  where  the  emploj^ed  are  Living  with, 
or  in  some  measure  under  the  guidance  of,  their 
employers. 

Much  is  being  attempted  by  various  benevolent 
persons  in  ways  of  this  kind  ;  and  the  greatest 
attention  should  be  paid  to  these  experiments. 

There  are  various  things  which  the  State  could 
do  in  these  matters  ;  but  it  would  require  a  very 
wise  and  great  government :  and  how  is  such  a 
thing  to  be  got  ?  In  the  act  of  rising  to  power 
men  fail  to  ol)tain  the  knowledge  and  thought, 
and  especially  the  purpose,  to  use  power.  There 
is  some  Eastern  proverb,  I  think,  about  the  meanest 
reptiles  l)eing  found  at  the  top  of  the  liigliest  towers. 
That,  as  applied  to  government,  is  ill-natured  and 
utterly  untrue.     But  people  who  are  swarming  up 

flennure,  and  miscellaneous  expoiiditiirc  of  all  kinds, 
t  is  eapy  to  see  that  any  midden  mishap,  such  as 
hickiicsH,  niUKt  wreck  Hiifli  a  pfpsoii's  moans ;  and  also 
timt  wluTo  lies  the  cliief  room  for  inakinj?  tlicso  means 
go  further,  is  in  the  expenditure  for  lodgings,  which 
now  consumes  about  half  her  earnings. 


REMEDIES  75 

a  difficult  ascent,  or  maintaining  themselves  with 
difficulty  on  a  narrow  ledge  at  a  great  height,  are 
not  employed  exactly  in  the  way  to  become  great 
philosophers  and  reformers  of  mankind.  Consti- 
tutional governments  may  be  great  blessings,  but 
nobody  can  doubt  that  they  have  their  price.  There 
are,  however,  excellent  men  in  high  places  amongst 
us  at  the  present  moment ;  but  timidity  in  at- 
temjDting  good  is  their  portion,  especially  by  any 
way  that  has  not  become  thoroughly  invincible  in 
argument.  I  suppose  that  any  man  who  should 
try  some  very  generous  thing  as  a  statesman,  and 
should  fail,  would  be  irretrievably  lost  as  a  states- 
man. 

Meanwhile  socialism  is  put  forward  to  fill  the 
void  of  government :  and  if  government  does  not 
make  exertion,  we  may  yet  have  dire  things  to 
encounter.  By  government  in  the  foregoing  sen- 
tence I  mean  not  only  what  we  are  in  the  habit  of 
calhng  such,  but  all  the  governing  and  directing 
persons  in  a  nation.  Some  of  them  are  certainly 
making  great  efforts  even  now,  and  there  lies  our 
hope. 

But,  supposing  that  the  supply  of  workmen 
and  workwomen  could  be  better  adapted  to  the 
demand  ;  and  that  means  could  be  found  to  pro- 
vide in  some  measure  for  neutralizing  the  ill  effects 
of  the  uncertainty  of  employment  (which  two 
things  though  very  difficult  are  still  not  beyond 
the  range  of  human  endeavour  and  accomplish- 
ment) there  would  yet  remain  many,  very  many, 
individual  cases  of  utter  and  sudden  distress  and 
destitution  amongst  young  women  which  form  the 
chief  causes  of  their  fall.  Now  how  are  these  to 
be  averted  ? 

There  should  be  some  better  means  of  inter- 
communication between  rich  and  poor  than  there 
is  at   present.     It   seems  as  if  the   priests   of  all 


76  REMEDIES 

religions  might  perform  that  function,  and  that  it 
should  be  considered  one  of  their  most  important 
functions.  It  should  be  done,  if  possible,  by  some 
persons  who  come  amongst  the  poor  for  other  pur- 
poses than  to  relieve  their  poverty.  At  the  same 
time  there  might  be  an  administrative  officer  of 
high  place  and  power  in  the  government  who  should 
be  on  tlie  alert  to  suggest  and  promote  good  offices 
of  the  kind  I  have  just  alluded  to.  In  reality  the 
Minister  of  education  (if  we  had  one)  would  be  the 
real  minister  for  destitution,  as  doing  most  to 
prevent  it ;  and  various  minor  duties  of  a  humane 
kind  might  devolve  upon  him. 

Any  one  acquainted  with  the  annals  of  the  poor 
vill  tell  how  familiar  such  woi'ds  are  to  him  as  the 
following,  and  how  true  on  enquiry  he  has  found 
them.  '  Father  fell  ill  of  the  fever,  (the  fever  the 
poor  girl  may  well  say,  for  it  is  the  fever  which 
want  of  air  and  water,  and  worlcing  in  stifling 
rooms  have  brought  upon  many  thousands  of  our 
workmen)  Mother  and  I  did  ]>retty  mcII  in  tiie 
straw- hoimcrt  line  while  she  lived;  but  she  died 
come  Aj)ril  two  years  :  and  I've  been  'most  starved 
since  then,  and  took  to  those  ways  '. 

'  You  were  fifteen  when  your  mother  died,  you 
say,  and  you  have  no  relations  in  this  town  '  ? 

'  Tlu^re  is  my  little  brotlier  and  he  is  in  the 
Workhouse,  and  thoy  lot  mo  go  and  see  him  on 
Mondays,  and  tlieie  is  my  Aunt,  but  she  is  a  very 
poor  Avoman  and  lives  a  long,  long  way  ofT,  and 
has  a  many  children  of  her  own  '. 

'  You  can  read  and  writ<^  '  ? 

'  I  can  rejwl  a  little  '. 

Now  of  course  (hcni  an;  thousands  of  cases  of 
this  kind  in  wliich  ono  feels  that  the  poor  child 
has  sli[)[)cfl  out  of  the  notice  and  care  of  people 
who  would  havi^  been  Init  too  glad  to  aid  her.  I 
daro  say   neither   mother  nor  child  ever  went  to 


REMEDIES  77 

any  church  or  chapel.  And,  in  truth,  let  us  be 
honest  and  confess  that  going  to  church  in  England 
is  somewhat  of  an  operation,  especially  to  a  poor, 
ill-clad  person.  This  sj^stem  of  pews  and  places, 
the  want  of  openness  of  churches,  the  length  of 
the  service  resulting  from  the  admixture  of  ser- 
vices, the  air  of  over-cleanliness  and  resi^ectability 
which  besets  the  place,  and  the  difficulty  of  getting 
out  when  you  like,  are  sad  hindrances  to  the  poor, 
the  ill-dressed,  the  sick,  the  timid,  the  fastidious, 
the  wicked  and  the  cultivated. 

And  then  there  is  nobody  into  whose  ear  the 
poor  girl  can  pour  her  troubles,  except  she  comes 
as  a  beggar.  Tliis  mil  be  said  to  be  a  leaning  on 
my  part  to  the  confessional.  I  cannot  help  that, 
I  must  speak  the  truth  that  is  in  me.  And  I  wish 
that  many  amongst  us  Protestants,  who  would, 
I  doubt  not,  welcome  the  duty,  could,  \vithout 
pledging  ourselves  to  all  manner  of  doctrines,  but 
merely  by  a  genial  use  of  those  common  relations 
of  hfe  which  bring  us  in  daily  contact  with  the 
poor,  fulfil  much  of  what  is  genuinely  good  in  the 
functions  of  a  confessor,  and  thus  become  brothers 
of  mercy  and  brothers  of  charity  to  the  poor. 

Meanwhile  it  is  past  melancholy,  and  verges 
on  despair,  to  reflect  upon  what  i^  going  on  amongst 
ministers  of  religion  who  are  often  but  too  intent 
upon  the  fopperies  of  religion  to  have  heart  and 
time  for  the  substantial  work  entrusted  to  them — 
immersed  in  heart-breaking  trash  from  which  no 
sect  is  free  ;  for  here  are  fopperies  of  discipline, 
there  fopperies  of  doctrine  (still  more  dangerous 
as  it  seems  to  me).  And  yet  there  are  these  words 
resounding  in  their  ears,  '  Pure  religion  and  un- 
defiled  is  this,  to  visit  the  fatherless  and  widows 
in  their  affiiction  and  to  keep  oneself  unspotted 
from  the  world '.  And  the  word  '  world ',  as 
Coleridge  has  well  explained,  is  this  order  of  things, 
the  order  of  things  you  are  in.     Clerical    niceness 


78  REMEDIES 

and  over-sanctity,  for  instance,  and  making  more 
and  longer  sermons  than  there  is  any  occasion  for, 
and  insisting  upon  needless  points  of  doctrine, 
and  making  Christianity  a  stumbling-block  to 
many,  that,  excellent  clergymen  (for  there  are 
numbers  who  deserve  the  name)  that  is  your  world, 
there  lies  your  temptation  to  err. 

It  has  occurred  to  me  that  schoolmasters  and 
schoolmistresses  would  form  good  means  of  com- 
mimication  with  the  poor :  and  so  much  the  better 
from  their  agency  being  indirect  as  regards  worldly 
affairs  '  ;  I  mean  that  their  first  business  is  not  to 
care  for  the  physical  well-being  of  their  pupils.  In 
after  life,  they  would  be  likely  to  know  something 
of  the  ways  and  modes  of  life  of  their  former  pupils, 
and  would  be  most  valuable  auxiliaries  to  land- 
lords, master-manufacturers,  to  masters  in  general, 
and  to  all  who  are  anxious  to  improve  the  condition 
of  those  under  them. 

While  talking  of  the  schoolmaster,  we  must  not 
omit  to  consider  the  immense  importance,  in  its 
bearing  on  our  suf)jt'ct,  of  a  better  education  for 
women  :  especially  for  women  of  what  are  called 
the  middling  classes— an  education  which  should 
develope  in  them  the  ruialitics  and  {wwci-s  which 
they  are  most  deficient  in,  such  tis  stern  reasoning 
which  is  at  tlio  foundation  of  justice,  and  wliich 
should  free  them  from  that  absurd  timidity  of 
mind  more  than  of  body  which  prevents  their 
seeing  things  as  they  are,  and  makes  thorn,  and 
conse(|ucntly  men,  the  victims  of  conventionality. 


'  In  this  respect  the  o|)|)ortunitio.s  of  medical  men 
arc  very  gn^at ;  and  surely  the  inodicul  profession  best 
emancipates  itself  from  any  tendency  to  materialism 
and  diKnifies  itHclf  by  entcrintr  upon  the  duties  and  the 
priyiifRf'H  of  a  teacher  and  consoler,  when  it  performs, 
U.S  it  very  often  does,  some  of  those  oflicos  of  cliarity 
which  ever  lie  just  under  its  hands. 


REMEDIES  79 

This  thing,  convent  ionaUty,  is  a  great  enemy 
to  those  who  would  war  against  the  sin  we  are 
considering.  Hypocrisy  is  said  to  be  the  homage 
which  ^-ice  pays  to  virtue  ;  conventionaUty  is  the 
adoration  which  both  vice  and  virtue  offer  up  to 
worldliness.  See  its  ill  effects  in  this  particular 
case.  The  discussion  of  our  subject  is  almost 
beyond  the  pale  of  conventionaUty.  Years  ago, 
an  old  College  friend  defined  this  present  -n-riter 
as  a  man  who  could  say  the  most  audacious  things- 
with  the  least  offence.  I  hope  my  friend  was  right, 
for,  indeed,  in  discussing  this  subject  I  need  all 
that  power  now.  Conventionahty  stiffens  up  the- 
whole  figure  and  sets  the  eyes  in  the  fixed  directi9n 
it  pleases,  so  that  men  and  women  can  pass  through 
the  streets  ignoring  the  greatest  horrors  wliich 
surround  them.  And  consider,  what  a  dangerous 
thing  it  is,  when  it  is  once  presumed  that  there  is 
any  class  with  whom  we  can  have  no  sympathy  ; 
that  there  are  any  beings  of  a  different  kind  from 
the  rest  of  us.  It  is  not  for  us,  collections  of  dust, 
to  feel  contempt.  In  a  future  life  we  may  have 
such  a  survey  as  may  justify  contempt,  but  then 
we  should  have  too  much  love  to  feel  it.  But, 
indeed,  in  most  cases  it  is  not  contempt,  but  con- 
ventionaUty, that  induces  us  to  pass  by  and  ignore- 
what  it  is  not  consistent  -v^dth  good  taste  to  know 
anything  about. 

But  there  is  another  fertile  mode  in  which  con- 
ventionaUty works  in  increasing  the  great  sin  of 
great  cities.  And  that  is  bj'  rendering  all  manner 
of  imaginary  wants  real  wants,  and  thus  helping 
to  enslave  men  and  women.  False  shame  has 
often,  I  doubt  not,  led  to  the  worst  consequence* 
— the  shame  for  instance  arising  from  not  ha^-ing 
the  clothes  of  a  kind  imagined  to  be  fit  for  a  par- 
ticular station  :  and  so,  people  submit  to  a  vice- 
to  satisfy  a  foible. 

A  class  of  persons  who  are  found  to  furnish  great 


80  R  E:\IE  DIES 

numbers  of  the  victims  to  the  sin  we  are  consider- 
ing is  that  of  domestic  servants.  This  leads  to  a 
suspicion  that  there  are  pecuhar  temptations, 
weaknesses,  errors  and  mismanagement  incident 
to  that  class.  Their  education,  to  begin  vrith,  is 
\vretchedly  defective.  But  besides  that,  they  are 
particularly  liable  to  the  slavery  of  conventionaUty  : 
indeed  there  are  few  people  more  subdued  by  weak 
notions  of  what  it  is  correct  for  them  to  have  and 
to  be  and  to  do :  which  often  ends  in  anything 
but  a  correspondence  of  the  reality  of  their  condi- 
tion with  their  ideal.  It  must  be  remembered, 
too,  that  they  imdergo  in  an  especial  degree  the 
temptation  of  being  brought  near  to  a  class  superior 
to  theirs  in  breeding  and  niceness ;  and  conse- 
quently that  they  are  very  Uable  to  be  discontented 
with  their  own. 

But  great  improvement  might  be  made  in  the 
management  of  servants.  Their  efforts  to  save 
money  should  be  directed  and  aided.  New  means 
might  be  invented  for  that  purpose.  It  might  be 
much  more  generally  arranged  than  it  is  both  in 
households  and  in  other  establishments  that  a 
fund  should  bo  formed  out  of  which  those  female 
servants  who  remained  a  certain  time  should  have 
a  sum  of  money,  in  fact  what  in  official  life  is  called 
■*  retired  allowances  '. 

Then  of  course  masters  and  mistresses  should 
recognize  the  fact,  in.ste;ul  of  needlessly  discourag- 
ing it,  that  men  and  women  love  one  another  in  all 
ranks — that  .Mary,  if  a  pleasant  or  comely  girl,  is 
pretty  nearly  sure  at  some  time  or  other  to  have  a 
lover.  I.^t  the  master  and  mistress  \ie  aware  of 
■that  fact,  and  treat  it  as  an  open  question  which 
may  bo  discu-ssed  sometimes  with  advantage  to  all 
parties. 

Instead  of  such  conduct,  one  hears  sometimes 
that  such  maxims  are  laid  down  as  that  '  no  fol- 
lowers   ar  ■    allowed'.      What    docs    a   lady    mean 


REMEDIES  81 

"who  lays  do-mi  such  a  law  in  her  household  ? 
Perhaps  she  subscribes  to  some  abolition  society, 
which  is  a  good  thing  in  as  far  as  it  cultivates  her 
kindly  feehngs  towards  an  injured  race.  But  does 
she  know  that,  by  this  law  of  hers  as  apphed  to 
her  own  household,  she  is  imitating  in  a  humble 
way  one  of  the  worst  things  connected  with 
slavery  ? 

As  this  prohibition  extends  to  near  relations  as 
well  as  to  lovers,  if  obeyed  it  renders  the  position 
of  a  servant  girl  still  more  perilous  as  more  isolated  ; 
and  if  disobeyed,  it  is  a  fertile  source  of  the  habit 
of  concealment,  one  of  the  worst  to  which  all  per- 
sons in  a  subordinate  situation  are  prone. 

For  my  own  part  I  could  not  bear  to  Uve  with 
servants  who  were  to  see  none  of  their  friends  and 
relations :  I  should  feel  I  was  keeping  a  prison 
and  not  ruhng  a  household. 

Amongst  the  principal  remedies  must  be  reckoned, 
or  at  least  hoped  for,  an  improvement  in  men  as 
regards  this  sin.  To  hope  for  such  an  improve- 
ment will  be  looked  upon  as  chimerical  by  some 
persons,  and  the  notion  of  introducing  great  moral 
remedies  for  the  evil  in  question  as  wholly  romantic. 
It  seems  impossible  :  every  new  and  great  thing 
does,  till  it  is  done  ;  and  then  the  only  wonder  is 
that  it  was  not  done  long  ago. 

Oh  that  there  were  more  love  in  the  world,  and 
then  these  things  that  we  deplore  could  not  be. 
One  would  think  that  the  man  who  had  once  loved 
any  woman,  would  have  some  tenderness  for  all. 
And  love  impUes  an  infinite  respect.  All  that  was 
said  or  done  by  Chivalry  of  old,  or  stmg  by  Trou- 
badours, but  shadows  forth  the  feehng  which  is 
in  the  heart  of  anyone  who  loves.  Love,  like  the 
opening  of  the  heavens  to  the  Saints,  shows  for  a 
moment,  even  to  the  dullest  man,  the  possibilities 
of    the    human    race.     He    has    faith,    hope,     and 


82  REMEDIES 

charity  for  another  being,  perhaps  but  a  creation 
of  his  imagination  ;  still  it  is  a  great  advance  for 
a  man  to  be  profoundly  lo\-ing  even  in  his  imagina- 
tions. What  Shellej'  makes  Apollo  exclaim,  Love 
might  well  saj-  too. 

I  am  the  eye  with  which  the  Universe 
Beholds  itself  and  knows  itself  divine  ; 

All  harmony  of  iiistrument  or  verse, 
All  prophecy,  all  mtuicine  are  mine. 

All  light  of  art  or  nature  ; — to  my  song 

Victory  and  praise  in  their  own  right  belong. 

Indeed  love  is  a  thing  so  deep  and  so  beautiful, 
that  each  man  feels  that  nothing  but  conceits  and 
pretty  words  have  been  said  about  it  by  other  men. 

And  then  to  come  dow  n  from  this  and  to  dishonour 
the  image  of  the  thing  so  loved,  ^o  man  could 
do  so  while  the  memory  of  love  was  in  his  mind. 
And,  indeed,  even  without  these  recollections,  we 
might  hope  that  on  the  contemplation  of  so  much 
ruin,  and  the  consideration  of  the  exquisite  beauty 
of  the  thing  spoiled,  there  would  sometimes  come 
upon  the  heart  of  a  man  a  pity  so  deep  as  to  pro- 
tect him  from  this  sin  as  much  as  aversion  itself 
could  do.  And  we  may  imagine  that  even  men  of 
outrageous  dissipation,  but  who  have  still  left 
some  greatness  and  hncncss  of  mind  (like  Mirabeau 
for  example)  will  lia\e  a  horror  of  the  .sin  we  are 
condemning,  tiiougii  very  sinful  in  other  respects. 
And  certainly  the  disgiare  to  humanity  that  there 
is  in  indiscriiiiinate  prostitution  is  appalling;  and 
like  constrained  marriage  for  money,  it  has  some- 
tiling  more  repulsive  al)out  it  than  is  to  be  met 
with  in  things  that  may  lie  essentially  more  wicked. 

I  h()j>e  I  am  not  uncharitable  in  saying  this  ; 
but  anybody  who  thinks  .so  must  rememljer  that 
what  is  alluded  to  by  me  is  the  worst  form  of  the 
pin  in  (juesti«m  ;    as  in  fact  it  disgraces  the  streets 


REMEDIES  83 

of  our  principal  cities — in  utter  lovelessness   and 
mercenary  recklessness. 

I  said  above  '  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  thing 
spoiled '.  And,  in  truth,  how  beautiful  a  thing 
is  youth — beautiful  in  an  animal.  In  contemplat- 
ing it,  the  world  seems  young  again  for  us.  Each 
young  thing  seems  bom  to  new  hopes.  Parents 
feel  this  for  their  children,  hoping  that  something 
wiU  happen  to  them  quite  ditferent  from  what 
happened  to  themselves.  They  would  hardly  take 
aU  the  pains  they  do  with  these  yomig  creatures, 
if  they  could  believe  that  the  young  i>eople  were 
only  to  grow  up  into  middJe-aged  men  and  women 
with  the  usual  cares  and  troubles  descending  upon 
them  hke  a  securely  entailed  inheritance.  There 
is  something  fanciful  in  all  this,  and  in  reahty  a 
grown-up  person  is  a  much  more  valuable  and 
worthy  creature  than  most  young  ones  :  but  stiU 
anything  that  blights  the  young  must  ever  be 
most  repugnant  to  humanity. 

I  had  now  read  over  all  that  I  liad  put  down  in 
writing ;  and,  as  I  laid  aside  the  manuscript,  I 
felt  how  sadlv  it  fell  short  of  what  I  had  thought 
to  say  on  this  subject.  I  suppose,  however,  that 
even  when  they  are  good,  a  man's  words  seems 
poor  to  himself,  for  the  workman  is  too  familiar 
with  the  -«Tong  side  of  all  his  workmanship.  More- 
over, much  must  always  lie  in  the  ear  of  the  hearer. 
We  say  enough  to  set  aUght  the  hidden  trains  of 
thought  which  abide  in  the  recesses  of  men's  hearts, 
unknown  to  them  ;  and  they  are  startled  into 
thinking  for  themselves.  After  all,  it  is  not  often 
so  requisite  for  a  writer  to  make  things  logically 
clear  to  men,  as  to  put  them  into  the  mood  he 
wishes  to  have  them  in.  I  suppose  the  snake- 
charmer  and  the  horse -whisperer  have  some  such 
scheme. 


84  REMEDIES 

But  said  I,  as  I  threw  some  stones  into  a  pool 
which  was  near  me  in  a  partial  clearing  of  the 
woocl,  I  would  go  on  with  this  work  if  I  knew 
that  all  my  efforts  woiild  make  no  more  stir  than 
these  pebbles  in  that  pool.  And  then  I  proceeded 
to  think  of  the  topics  which  are  yet  before  me, 
full  of  doubt  and  difficulty.  I  should  like  to  have 
some  talk  ^\-ith  Ellesmere,  I  exclaimed  ;  I  fear  he 
will  have  no  sympathy  -n-ith  me  and  an  utter  dis- 
belief in  anybody  doing  any  good  in  this  matter. 
But  he  is  a  shrewd  man  of  the  world,  and  he  speaks 
out  fearlessly.  It  would  be  well  to  hear  his  re- 
marks beforehand,  while  they  may  yet  be  of  use 
to  me.     I  certainly  vill  consult  liim. 

I  stept  out  of  the  wood  into  the  beaten  road, 
a  change  which  I  always  feel  to  be  like  that  which 
occurs  in  the  mind  of  a  man  who,  having  been 
■\<Tapt  in  some  romance  of  his  O'mi,  suddenly  dis- 
engages himself  from  it  and  tallcs  with  his  fellows 
upon  the  ordinary  topics  of  the  day,  affecting  a 
shrewd  care  about  the  price  of  com  and  the  state 
of  our  foreign  relations. 

By  the  time  I  reached  Worth-Ashton  I  had  left 
all  forest  thoughts  well  behind  me,  and  was  quite 
at  home  on  the  broad  beaten  road  of  common- 
place affairs. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  STORY  OF  A  GIEL's  KESCUE,  AND  COXVERSATION 
THEREON 

I  HAVE  read  the  foregoing  notes  to  EUesmere,  wlioui 
I  asked  to  come  here  the  first  lawj^er's  holiday  that 
he  could  make.  During  the  reading,  wliich  was  in 
my  study,  he  said  nothing,  but  seemed,  as  I  thought, 
unusually  grave  and  attentive.  ^\Tien  it  was 
finisbed,'he  proposed  that  we  should  walk  out  upon 
the  downs.  Still  he  made  no  remark,  but  strolled 
on  moodily,  until  I  said  to  him  '  I  am  afraid,  EUes- 
mere, you  have  some  heavy  brief  which  sits  upon 
your  mind  just  now ;  or,  perhaps,  I  have  some- 
what wearied  you  in  reading  so  much  to  you  upon 
a  subject  about  which  you  probably  do  not  care 
much '.  'I  care  more  than  you  do  ',  he  rephed — 
'  forgive  my  abruptness,  ^Nlilverton,  but  what  I 
say  is  true.  To  show  you  why  I  do  care  would  be 
to  teU  you  a  long  story  and  to  betray  to  you 
that  which  I  had'never  intended  to  tell  mortal 
man. 

'  But,  if  you  care  to  hear  it,  I  will  tell  you  ;  it 
bears  closely  upon  some  of  your  views  and  may 
modify  them  in  some  way.  I  can  talk  to  you  on 
such  a  theme  better  than  to  almost  any  man,  for  it 
is  hke  talking  to  a  philosophic  system,  and  yet 
there  is  still  some  humanity  left  in  you,  so  that 
one  may  hope  for  a  httle  sympathy  now  and  then 
■nithout  having  too  much,  or  being  afflicted  with 


86      THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE 

pity  and  wonder  and  foolish  exclamations  of  any 
kind '.  I  did  not  interru])t  him  to  defend  my- 
self, being  too  anxious  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say. 
Besides  1  saw  this  attack  upon  me  was  partly  an 
excuse  to  himself  for  telhng  me  something  which 
he  hardly  meant  to  tell.  He  threw  himself  down 
upon  the  turf,  and  after  a  few  minutes  silence, 
thus  began. 

Well,  I  was  once  ujjon  my  travels  staying  for  a 
few  days  in  a  German  town,  not  a  ^'ery  obscure 
or  a  very  renowned  one  ;  but  indeed  the  where- 
abouts is  a  very  unimportant  matter,  and  I  do 
not  particularize  any  of  the  minute  circumstances 
of  my  story,  because  I  do  not  wish  hereafter  to 
be  reminded  of  them.  I  remember  it  was  on  a 
Sunday,  and  the  day  was  tine.  I  remember,  too, 
I  Avenib  to  church,  to  a  Protc^stant  church,  where 
I  did  not  understand  much  of  what  I  heai-d,  but 
liked  wliat  1  did.  They  sang  ]isalms,  such  as  I 
fii.ncy  JjUther  would  have  a]<])rov(d  of;  and  I 
thought  it  would  be  a  serious  thing  for  a  hostile 
array  to  meet  a  body  of  men  who  had  been  thus 
singing.  Grand  music,  such  as  you,  for  instance, 
would  like  better,  is  a  good  thing  too.  Our  cathe- 
drals might  have  combined  botli.  I  do  not  know 
why  1  tell  you  all  this,  for  it  does  not  immediately 
concern  my  story,  but  I  su))])ose  it  is  because  I  do 
not  like  to  ap])roach  it  too  (juickly,  and  I  must 
linger  on  the  details  of  a  day  whicli  is  so  deeply 
jmj»rinlc(i  npon  my  memory.  I  rememl)er  well 
the  sermon,  or  ratlxr  tlu?  liits  of  it  which  T  under- 
stood, and  out  of  wliicli  I  mndv  mv  sermon  for 
myself.  That  jt.iilmtic  word  verloren  (lost)  occurred 
many  times.  Then  there  was  a  great  deal  about 
the  cares  of  this  lif(^  oc('U|)ying  so  much  time,  and 
then  about  tlu!  iih-asures,  or  lh(!  thoughts,  of  mis- 
upent  youth  being  imprcHsed  u|x>n  manhood,  to 
the  perennial  detriment  of  the  character.     T  made 


THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE      87 

out,  or  fancied  I  did,  that  it  .was  a  sermon  showing 
how  short  a  time  was  given  to  spiritual  life.  I 
dare  say  it  was  a  very  common-place  sermon  that 
I  made  of  it ;  but  somehow,  the  sermons  we  preach 
to  ourselves,  in  which  bv  the  way  we  can  be  sure 
of  taking  the  most  apt  illustrations  from  the  store 
of  our  own  follies,  are  always  interesting.  iVnd 
when  the  good  preacher,  a  most  benign  and  apos- 
tolic-looking man.  pronounced  the  benediction.  I 
felt  as  if  I  had  been  hearing  some  friendly  searching 
words  which  might  well  be  laid  to  heart.  After 
the  sermon  was  over.  I  strolled  about.  The  day 
moved  on,  and  towards  e-vening  time,  I  went  Avith 
the  stream  of  the  townspeople,  gentle  and  simple, 
to  some  public  gardens  which  lay  outside  the  town 
and  were  joined  to  it  bv  beautiful  walks.  People 
speak  of  the  sadness  of  being  in  a  crowd  and  know- 
ing no  one.  There  is  something  pleasurable  in  it 
too."*!  wandered  amongst  the  various  groups  of 
quiet,  decorous,  beer-imbibing  Germans  who  in 
family-parties  had  come  out  to  these  gardens  to 
drinlc  their  beer,  smoke  their  pipes  and  hear  some 
music.  In  those  unfortunate  regions  they  have 
not  made  a  ghastly  idol  of  the  Sunday. 

At  last  I  sat  do\^Ti  at  a  table  where  a  young  girl 
and  a  middle-aged  woman  who  carried  a  baby 
were  refreshing  themselves  wth  some  very  thin 
potation.  They  looked  poor  decent  people.  I 
soon  entered  into  conversation  with  them,  and 
therefore  did  not  leave  it  long  a  matter  of  doubt 
that  I  was  an  Englishman.  I  perceived  that 
something  was  "v^Tong  with  my  friends,  although 
I  could  not  comprehend  what  it  was.  I  could 
see  that  the  girl  could  hardly  restrain  herself  from 
bursting  into  tears  ;  and  'there  was  sometliing 
q\iite  comical  in  the  deli2;ht  she  expressed  at  some 
feats  on  the  tight-rope,  which  she  would  insist 
upon  my  looldng  at,  and  her  then  in  a  minute 
afterwards    returning    to    licr    quiet    distress    and 


88      THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE 

anxious  deplorable  countenance.  A  proud  English 
girl  would  have  kept  all  her  misery  under  due 
control,  especially  in  a  pubUc  place ;  but  these 
Germans  are  a  more  simple  natural  people.  ^    i 

Having  by  degrees  established  some  relations 
between  the  party  and  mj-self  by  ordering  some 
coffee  and  handing  it  round,  and  then  letting  the 
baby  play  with  my  watch,  I  asked  what  it  was  that 
ailed  the  girl.  The  girl  turned  roimd  and  poured 
out  a  torrent  of  eloquence  which,  however,  con- 
siderably exceeding  the  pace  at  which  any  foreign 
language  enters  into  my  apprehension,  was  totally 
lost  upon  me,  except  that  I  perceived  she  had  some 
complaint  against  somebody,  ixnd  that  she  had  a 
noble  open  countenance  which,  from  long  experi- 
ence of  the  ^\-itness-box,  1  felt  was  telling  me  an 
unusual  proportion  of  trutlu  One  part  of  the  dis- 
course I  jK;rceived  very  clcarlj*  to  be  about  money, 
and  as  she  touched  her  gowTi  (wliich  was  very  neat 
and  nice)  it  had  sometliing  to  do  with  the  price  of 
the  said  gown. 

We  then  talked  of  England,  whereupon  she 
asked  me  to  take  her  wth  me  as  a  servant.  This 
abrujit  speech  might  astonish  some  persons  ;  but 
not  those  who  have  travelled  much.  I  dare  say 
the  same  request  has  often  been  made  to  you, 
Milverton, 

Milverton.  Oh,  yes.  They  fancy  tliis  is  an 
earthly  paradise  for  getting  money  bounded  by 
a  continual  fog. 

J'Jlle«merf.  She  then  questioned  me  much  as  to 
the  distance  of  ICngland  from  vliere  we  were. 
And  as  I  saw  she  w;lh  in  a  desperate  mood,  and 
might  attempt  some  desperate  adventure,  I  took 
care  to  «'X plain  to  her  the  distance  and  the  diffi- 
cultie.s  of  the  journey.  lk^sidt«  wliicli,  I  contrived, 
putting  the  s(!verest  i)ressure  on  my  stock  of  (Ger- 
man, to  convey  to  her  that  London  was  rather 
on    cxtrnsivc    town,    containing    tun    millions    of 


THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE      89 

people,  and  that  it  was  not  exactly  the  j^lace  for  a 
unfriended  young  girl  to  be  wandering  about. 

'  The  same  thing  everywhere,  everywhere  ',  she 
exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  mournful  reproach  which 
I  felt  was  levelled  at  our  unchivtilroas  sex  in  general. 
I  felt  interested  to  understand  her  story,  and 
beginning  to  question  her  in  detail  again,  ascer- 
tained so  far,  that  she  was  or  had  been  a  servant, 
that  she  had  been  accustomed  to  take  charge  of 
childi-en,  ha^dng  had  eleven  imder  her  charge, 
that  the  wages  were  most  -\\Tet€hed,  which  they 
certainly  were  ;  but  stiU  it  was  not  that  or  any 
of  the  ordinary  kind  of  grievances  which  was  now 
distressing  her.  ^^^leneve^  we  came  to  the  gist 
ot  the  discourse,  she  became  more  emphatic  and  I 
more  stupid.  At  last  I  bethought  me  that  if  she 
were  to  ^rate  out  what  she  had  to  say,  I  could 
then  miderstand  it  well  enough.  This  was  a  bright 
idea  and  one  which  I  was  able  to  convey  to  her. 
She  was  to  bring  me  the  writing  on  the  ensuing 
morning  in  the  great  square.  And  ha\-ing  come 
to  this  agreement  we  parted,  I  taldng  care,  with 
law;\^er-like  caution,  to  tell  her  that  I  did  not  know 
■whether  I  could  be  of  any  use  to  her,  with  other 
discouraging  expressions. 

The  next  morning,  duly  fortified  ^nth  my  pocket 
dictionary,  I  sat  myself  do^Ti  to  read  her  state- 
ment. Ah,  how  clearly  the  whole  scene  is  before 
me.  It  was  on  a  broad  bench,  close  to  a  hacknej^- 
coach  stand,  within  sight  of  the  palace.  She 
looked  over  me  and  read  aloud  ;  and  when  I  could 
not  make  out  a  word,  we  jiaused,  and  the  dictionary 
was  put  in  requisition.  The  nearest  hackney  coach- 
man lying  back  on  his  box  threw  now  and  then  an 
amused  glance  at  the  proceeding.  Hers  was  a 
simple  touching  story,  touchingly  told.  I  now 
know  every  word,  every  letter  of  it ;  but  then  it 
was  very  hard  for  me  to  comprehend. 

It   began   by   giving   her   birth,    parentage   and 


90      THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE 

education.  She  was  born  of  poor  parents  in  the 
country  a  few  miles  out  of  the  town.  She  was 
now  an  orphan.  She  had  come  into  service  in  the 
to\\Ti.  Her  master  had  endeavoured  to  seduce 
her ;  but  she  had  succeeded  in  giving  some  notion 
of  her  miserable  position  to  a  middle-aged  man,  a 
frit^nd  of  her  family,  who  had  taken  an  interest  in 
her,  and  promised  to  receive  her  into  his  service. 
Then  she  gave  warning  to  her  mistress,  who  could 
not  imagine  the  cause,  and  was  displeased  at  her 
leaving.  She  could  not  tell  her  mistress  for  fear 
of  vexing  her. 

The  character  given  by  the  mistress  (which  I 
saw)  went  v,'o\\  M-ith  this  statement,  as  it  was  the 
praise  of  a  person  displeased. 

The  new  master  that  was  to  be,  had  told  her 
where  to  go  to  (the  lodgings  where  she  was  now 
staying)  and  ordered  her  to  get  decent  clothes, 
before  coming  into  his  serxdce.  He  did  not  live 
in  that  town.  She  left  her  [)lace  accordingly, 
provided  herself  \vith  the  necessary  things,  and 
awaited  his  orders.  jMean while  his  plans  were 
changed.  He  had  just  married,  was  probably 
about  to  travel,  and  wTote  that  he  could  nf)t  take 
h«'r  in.  T  am  not  sure  that  there  was  any  deliberate 
WTong-doing  or  treachery  on  his  part — merely  a 
wicked  ean'lessness,  forgetting  what  a  tiling  it  is 
for  a  poor  girl  to  be  out  of  place,  and  not  knowing 
that  slu!  had  taken  the  sttip,  perhaps,  at  the  time 
he  wrote.  She  had  uritten  again,  and  had  re- 
ceived no  answer.  She  was  left  in  debt  and  in 
the  utinoHt  distress. 

This  is  the  substance  of  what  I  eventually  got 
out  by  cross-examination.  She  had  been  out  into 
the  Huburim  in  search  of  a  place  when  I  met  her 
yesterday.  Tlu?  wonuin  with  the  child,  who  was 
no  relation,  had  reiterated  to  mo  there  that  she 
was  a  good  girl  and  in  great  distress. 

Till-  usual  wicked  easj'  way  of  getting  out  of  her 


THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE      91 

difficulties  had  been  pressed  upon  her :  Ich  mag 
das  Geld  nicht  auf  eine  schlechte  Art  bekommen, 
sonst  whrde  ich  es  in  kurzer  Zeit  Iwihen  ;  but  she 
trusted  that  '  the  dear  God  would  never  permit 
this,  so  she  put  her  trust  in  Him '.  Ich  Jwffe  aber 
der  liebe  Goft  wird  das  nicht  zugeben,  denn  ich  ver- 
lasse  mich  auf  Ihn. 

I  remember  that,  occasionally,  while  we  were 
spelling  over  what  she  had  wi-itten,  her  large 
beautifiil  hand  (do  not  smile,  Mlverton,  a  liand 
may  be  most  beautiful  and  yet  large)  rested  on 
the  page.  There  was  a  deep  scar  upon  it,  the 
mark  of  a  burn,  that  told  of  some  household  mis- 
hap. I  have  seen  many  beautiful  hands  before 
and  after,  but  none  so  beavitiful  to  me. 

At  last  we  got  tlirough  the  T\Titing  and  paused. 
'  Tliis  is  a  bad  business  ',  I  exclaimed  ;  and  then 
I  fell  into  a  reverie,  not  ujion  her  particular  case 
so  much,  as  upon  the  misery  that  there  is  in  the 
world.  At  last  I  looked  up  and  felt  quite  remorse- 
ful at  the  -wistful  agonized  expression  of  the  girl 
whom  I  had  been  keeping  in  suspense  all  this  time, 
wliile  indulging  my  own  thoughts.  She  evidently 
thought  (you  know  the  extremely  careless  iU- 
dressed  figure  I  generally  am)  that  to  assist  her 
was  quite  out  of  my  power.  And  so  it  was  at  the 
moment,  for  I  had  not  the  requisite  silver  about 
me.  Indeed  why  should  the  rich  carrj''  any  money 
about  with  them,  when  they  have  always  the  poor 
to  borrow  it  from.  However  I  had  some  silver  in 
my  pocket  and  gave  her  that,  promising  to  bring 
the  rest.  Her  ecstasy  was  unbounded  :  of  course 
she  began  to  cry  (no  woman  is  above  that)  though 
seeing  my  excessive  dislike  to  that  proceeding, 
she  did  the  best  to  suppress  it.  only  indulging  in 
an  occasional  sob.  Her  first  idea  was  what  she 
could  do  for  the  money.  She  would  work  for  any 
time.  We  had  found  out  that  writing  was  better 
than   talking ;     and   here   are   her   very  words   (I 


92     THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE 

always  carry  them  about  uith  me),  '  Was  soil  ich 
Ihnen  fiir  einen  Dienst  dafiir  thun '  ?  '  \\Tiat 
shall  I  do  for  you  in  the  way  of  service  for  this  '  ? 
'  Nothing  ',  I  replied,  '  but  only  to  be  a  good  girl '. 

One  thing  I  have  omitted  to  tell  you  :  but  I 
may  as  well  tell  it.  It  is  no  matter  now.  While 
we  were  reading  over  the  letter,  I  happened  to  ask 
her  Avhether  she  had  a  lover.  I  had  h  irdly  asked 
the  question  before  I  would  have  given  anytliing 
to  have  been  able  to  recall  it,  as  we  sometimes  do 
in  Court  when  a  cjuestion  is  objected  to.  Her 
simple  answer  came  crushing  into  my  ears  :  '  Yes, 
but  a  jwor  man  and  far  away '.  She  thought  my 
object  in  asking  was  to  ascertain  whether  there 
was  any  help  to  be  got  from  any  other  quarter : 
this  she  answered,  so  like  her  seasible  self,  \\'ithout 
any  bridling-up  or  nonsense  of  any  kind — a  simple 
aaswcr  to  a  simple  question.  But  the  words  went 
down  like  a  weight  into  my  heart,  wliich  has  never 
been  (|uito  lifted  oil"  again.  In  short,  Milverton, 
I  loved. 

What  should  possess  me  to-day  to  tell  you  this 
vild  story  I  know  not.  I  know  you  really  care 
for  nothing  but  great  interests  and  great  causes, 
as  you  call  them.  With  intense  mad  love  for  any 
one  human  being  you  cannot  sympathi/.e.  I 
always  noted  the  same  in  you  from  youi-  boyhood 
upwards.  Talk  to  you  of  a  body  of  men — of  a 
class — of  a  million,  for  instance,  of  |)e<)ple  suffering 
anything,  and  you  are  immediately  interested. 
But  for  any  one  of  us  you  care  nothing.  I  see 
through  you,  and  always  have.  But  I  like  you. 
Do  not  answer  me,  you  knr)w  it  is  true. 

I  did  not  answcT  liim,  though  knowing  what  he 
Baid  to  b(!  most  untrue,  and  yet  to  have  just  that 
dash  of  i>lauHil)ility  in  it,  which  makes  injustice  so 
hard  to  unravel,  ile  j)roceeded.  I  saw  Cretchen 
(that  was  her  name)  more  than  once  again,  and  had 


THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE      93 

a  great  deal  of  talk  -«-ith  her,  finding  my  first  im- 
pressions amply  verified ;  and  I  still  think  her 
one  of  the  best  intellects,  and  most  beautiful 
natures,  I  have  ever  seen.  I  had  in  my  pocket  a 
very  learned  letter  from  one  of  the  German  Pro- 
fessors of  law  to  whom  I  had  dehvered  a  letter  of 
introduction  on  passing  through  liis  town,  on  some 
points  of  jurisprudence,  referring  to  Savigny's 
work.  The  parts  of  this  which  had  been  unintel- 
ligible I  made  her  construe  to  me  ;  some  of  it  was 
quite  independent  of  technicahries,  but  merely 
required  hard  thinking  and  clear  explanation. 
The  girl  with  my  help  made  it  all  out.  But  of 
coiu'se  it  was  not  of  such  themes  that  she  Uked  to 
talk,  for  women  love  personal  talk,  and  their  care 
is  to  know,  not  what  men  think  about,  but  what 
they  feel.  One  speech  of  hers  dwells  in  my  mind. 
'  You  must  be  very  happy  at  home  '  she  said.  I 
thought  of  my  mouldy  chambers  and  the  kind  of 
hfe  I  lead,  and  replied  with  an  irony  I  could  not 
check,  '  very ' :  and  so  satisfied  her  gentle  ques- 
tionings. 

I  did  not  delay  my  departure  longer  than  I  had 
at  first  intended ;  for  in  these  cases  when  you 
have  done  any  good,  it  is  well  to  be  sure  you  do 
not  spoil  it  in  any  way.  She  would  not  have  any 
more  money  than  a  trifling  sum  that  was  a  little 
more  than  sufiicient  to  pay  off  the  debts  already 
due,  and  they  amounted  to  the  very  same  sum 
she  had  originally  mentioned  to  me  in  the  gardens. 
We  parted.  Before  parting  she  begged  me  to  tell 
her  my  name  ;  then  timidly  she  kissed  my  hand  ; 
and,  bursting  into  tears,  threw  her  hood  over  her 
face  and  hurried  away  a  little  distance.  After- 
wards I  saw  her  turn  to  watch  the  departure  of 
the  huge  diligence  in  which  I  had  esconced  mj'self. 

Milverton.     And  you  never  saw  her  any  more. 

Ellesmere.  Once  more.  Not  being  a  philosopher 
or  a  philanthropist,  I  do  not  easily  forget  those  I 


94      THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE 

once  care  for.  I  studied  how  to  protect  her  in 
every  way.  I  mastered  the  poHtics  of  that  German 
town  ;  and  learnt  all  the  intricacies  of  the  little 
Court  there.  I  ascertained  everything  respecting 
our  relations  with  it,  and  who  amongst  our  diplo- 
matists was  desirous  of  the  residence  there,  when 
there  should  be  a  change.  I  busied  myself  more 
in  politics  than  I  had  done  ;    and  I  believe  I  must 

own  that  my  speech  on  the intervention,  which 

had  its  merits  and  cost  me  great  labour,  was  spoken 
for  Gretchen.  Of  course  I  need  hardly  say  that 
I  spoke  only  what  I  most  sincerely  thought ;  but 
I  should  probably  have  let  politics  alone  but  for  her 
sake.  At  last  there  was  an  opportujiity  of  a  new 
appointment  being  made  of  a  Minister  to  that 
German  Court ;  and  the  man  who  wished  for  it, 
and  M'hose  just  claims  I  had  aided  as  1  best  could, 
obtained  it.  His  wife,  Lady  H.,  one  of  those 
brilliant  women  of  the  w(jrld  who  are  often  more 
amiable  than  we  give  tlicm  credit  for  being,  had 
long  noticed  the  care  witli  wliich  [  had  cultivated 
her  society.  She  imagined  it  was  for  one  of  lier 
beautiful   daughters,    and   did   not   look   unkindly 

upon   me.     Rei'ore  she   went   to   reside   at I 

undt;c(i\ed  her,  telling  her  the  whole  truth,  the 
best  thing  in  such  a  case,  and  binding  her  to  secrecy. 
She  promised  to  look  out  for  (Jrctchon  and  to  take 
her  into  li(;r  household.  1  told  i^ady  H.  that 
Grefchcji  had  a  lover  and  sai<l,  that  if  anything 
could  bedom;  for  him,  witliout  lilting  iiiin  out  of  his 
rank,  it  should  be.  NeitluT  would  1  have  (>retehon 
made  anything  difl'erent  from  what  she  was.  I 
could  have  given  her  money  by  handfuls,  l)ut  that 
is  not  the  way  to  serve  |)e()ple.  At  the  same  time 
I  im])lor(!d  Lady  l\.  to  let  me  know  inuncdiately 
in  case  anylliing  should  ever  occur  to  break  oil  the 
nuirri.igc. 

Miirrrf'in.      And  you  would  li;i\c  put  in  your  suit 
and  nifiriicd  tliis  girl. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE       95 

Ellesmere.  There  was  but  little  chance,  I  fear ; 
but  you  may  be  sure  no  oi^portunity  would  have 
escaped  me.  As  for  the  world,  I  am  one  of  the 
few  persons  who  really  care  but  little  for  it.  The 
hissing  of  collected  Europe,  provided  I  knew  the 
hissers  could  not  touch  me,  would  be  a  grateful 
sound  rather  than  the  reverse — that  is,  if  heard  at  a 
reasonable  distance. 

Well,  but  I  told  you  I  saw  Gretchen  once  more. 
Yes,  once  more.  You  may  remember  that  some 
time  ago  I  had  a  very  severe  illness  :  and  was  not 
able  to  attend  the  Courts  on  an  occasion  when  I 
was  much  wanted.  This  appeared  in  the  news- 
papers of  the  day,  and  so  I  conjecture,  came  to 
the  knowledge  of  Gretchen,  who  in  her  quiet  in- 
defatigable way  had  learnt  English  and  was  a  great 
student,  as  I  afterwards  heard,  of  English  news- 
papers. She  had  also  contrived  to  learn  more 
about  my  life  than  I  chose  to  tell  her  when  I  an- 
swered her  question  about  my  being  happy  ;  and 
the  poor  girl  had  formed  juster  notions  of  the 
joyousness  and  comfort  of  a  lawyer's  chambers  in 
London.  She  begged  for  leave  of  absence  to  ^^sit 
a  sick  friend  ;  Lady  R.  conjectured  I  believe  where 
she  was  going,  and  consented. 

A  few  days  afterwards  there  was  a  knock  at  my 
door  (I  was  still  very  ill  and  unable  to  leave  my 
sitting-room,  but  solacing  life  as  best  I  could  by 
the  stvidy  of  a  great  pedigree-case)  when  my  clerk 
Anth  an  anxious  and  ashamed  countenance,  put 
his  head  in,  made  one  of  those  queer  faces  which 
he  does  when  he  thinks  a  great  bore  is  wisliing  to 
see  me  and  that  I  had  better  say  '  no  ',  and  ex- 
claimed '  a  young  woman  from  Germany,  sir, 
wants  to  see  you  '.  I  knew,  instinctively,  who  it 
was,  but  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  make  a  ges- 
ture signif^ang  I  would  not  see  her,  (for  I  could  not 
have  spoken)  and  I  was  afraid  in  my  present  state 
of  weakness  I  should  betray  myself  in  some  way, 


96      THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE 

if  I  were  to  see  her  unprepared.  While  the  parley- 
ing was  going  on  in  the  passage,  I  collected  mj'self 
sufficienth^  to  ring  for  my  clerk  and  tell  him,  he 
might  appoint  the  young  woman  to  come  in  the 
afternoon.  By  that  time  I  had  reflected  upon  my 
part  and  was  somewhat  of  myself  again.  She 
came  :  1 1  scolded  and  protested,  she  did  nothing 
in  reply,  but  look  at  me  and  say  how  thin  I  was  ; 
and  there  was  no  resisting  the  quiet,  affectionate, 
discreet  way  in  which  she  installed  herself  every 
day  for  some  hours  as  head  nurse.  Even  my  old 
laundress  relaxed  so  far  as  to  say  that  Gradgin 
(for  that  was  what  she  called  her)  was  a  good  girl 
and  not  hoity-toity :  and  my  clerk  Peter,  a  very 
cantankerous  fellow,  was  heard  to  remark,  that 
for  his  part,  he  did  not  like  young  women  much, 
but  ISUss  Gradgin  was  better  than  most,  and  cer- 
tainly his  master  did  somehow  eat  more  of  any- 
thing made  by  her  than  by  anj-body  else,  and 
never  threatened  now  to  throw  the  chicken-broth 
he  brought  in  at  his  head. 

I  jest  at  these  things,  ^lilvcrton  :  and  in  truth 
what  remains  for  us  often  in  this  world  but  to  jest  ? 
Which  of  the  Queens  was  it,  liy  tlie  way.  who  on 
the  scaffold  played  with  the  sharpness  of  the  axe, 
and  said  something  droll  about  lier  little  neck  ? 
Well,  I  jest,  but  this  xisit  of  Cretchen's  was  a  very 
severe  trial  to  me.  It  is  a  common  trial  though, 
I  dare  say.  No  doul)t  many  a  person  dotes  upon 
or  adores  some  one  else,  who  is,  hajipily,  as  im- 
conscious  of  tlie  doting  or  adoration  as  I? am  Dass, 
or  any  other  heathen  deity,  of  the  fanatic  love  of 
his  worHhijjpers.  To  the  loving  jx^rson.  however, 
it  is  like  walking  over  hot  iron  with  no  priest- 
anointed  feet,  and  yet  with  unmoved  countenance, 
not  even  allowed  to  look  stoical.  I  couhl  not  re- 
sist listening  sometimes  to  Gretchen's  wise,  inno- 
cent, ple.'isant  talk  al)out  all  the  new  things  she 
was  seeing  ;   and  jxTliaps  if  I  had  not  kept  carefully 


THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE      97 

before  me  the  claims  of  the  absent  peasant  lover, 
some  day  when  she  was  moving  about  me  hke 
sunlight  in  the  room,  I  might  in  some  moment  of 
frenzy,  which  I  should  never  have  forgiven  my- 
self, have  thrown  myseK  at  her  feet  and  asked 
her  to  take  these  dingy  chambers  and  my  faded 
self  and  all  my  belongings  under  her  permanent 
control.  But  wiser,  sterner,  juster  thoughts 
prevailed. 

I  got  better,  and  it  was  time  for  Gretchen  to  be 
thinking  of  going.  Of  course  no  foreigner  can 
leave  London  without  seeing  the  Thames  Tunnel ; 
and  I  observed  that  the  morose  Peter,  though  in 
general  very  contemptuous  of  sight-seeing  and 
sight-seers,  was  wonderfully  ready  to  escort  Gret- 
chen to  see  the  Tunnel,  which  I  thought  a  great 
triumph  on  her  part.  I  spared  myself  the  anguish 
of  parting  with  her :  a  case  came  on  rather  un- 
expectedly in  a  distant  part  of  the  country,  and  I 
was  sent  for  '  special ',  as  we  say.  Kings  and 
tetrarchs  might  have  quarrelled  for  what  I  cared  ; 
I  would  not  have  meddled  in  their  feuds  to  lose 
one  hour  of  Gretchen's  sweet  companionship,  if 
I  might  have  had  it  heartily  and  fairly  ;  but,  as 
things  were,  I  thought  this  a  famous  opportunity 
for  making  my  escape  without  a  parting.  And  so 
I  started  suddenly  for  the  North,  bidding  Gretchen 
adieu  by  letter,  expressing  all  my  gratitude  for  her 
attention,  and  being  able  to  rule  and  correct  mv 
expressions  as  it  seemed  good  to  me.  Before  I 
returned  she  had  left,  taking  leave  of  me  in  a  fond 
kind  letter  in  which  she  blamed  me  much  for  being 
so  regardless  of  my  health,  and  added  a  few  words 
about  my  evident  anxiety  to  get  rid  of  her,  which 
sounded  to  me  like  some  wild  strain  of  irony. 
Ever  since,  my  chambers  have  seemed  to  me  very 
different  from  what  they  were  before  :  I  would 
not  quit  them  for  a  palace.  One  or  two  new 
articles  of    furniture    were    bought    by    Gretchen, 


98      THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE 

who  effected  a  kind  of  quiet  revolution  i»i  my  dusky- 
abode.     These  are  my  household  gods. 

One  of  her  alterations  I  must  tell  you.  You 
know  my  love  for  Ught  and  warmth  ;  like  that 
of  an  Asiatic  long  exiled  in  a  Northern  country, 
whose  calenture  is  not  of  green  fields  but  of  suffi- 
cient heat  and  light  once  more  to  bathe  in.  Well, 
Gretchen  soon  found  out  my  likings  ;  and  this 
was  one  of  her  plans  to  gratify  me  and  make  me 
well.  My  principal  room  has  a  window  to  the 
south-west,  a  bay-window,  or  rather  a  v^dndow  in 
a  bayed  recess.  After  ascertaining  as  well  as  she 
could  from  Peter,  what  were  the  limits  throughout 
the  year  of  the  sun's  appearance  on  the  walls  of 
this  recess,  on  a  sudden  one  morning,  Gretchen 
came  in  \nth  a  workman  and  two  antique-looking 
glasses  of  the  proper  size,  wliich  (a  present  of  her 
own,  and  taxing  her  resources  higlily)  she  fixed 
one  on  each  side  of  the  recess,  from  whence  they 
have  ever  since  thrown  a  reflected  light  into  the 
room,  which  makes  it  feel  at  times  uncomfortable 
like  an  ill-drcsscd  person  in  great  company.  It  is 
a  trifhng  thing  to  mention  to  you,  but  very  char- 
acteristic of  her. 

I  have  said  notliing  to  you,  Milverton,  which 
can  describe  herself  ;  and,  indeed,  I  always  look 
uj)on  all  descriptions  of  women,  in  books  and  else- 
where, as  liaving  something  mean,  poor,  and  sen- 
suous about  them.  I  may  tell  y(ju  that  she  always 
from  tlie  (inst  time  I  saw  her,  reminded  me  a  little 
of  the  bust  of  Cicero.  She  had  the  same  delicate 
<Titical  look,  though  she  was  what  you  would  call 
a  great  large  girl.  She  might  have  been  a  daughter 
of  his,  if  he  had  married  what  \n:  would  liave  called, 
a  barbarian  (Jcrman  woman.  In  nature,  she  has 
often  recalled  to  me  Jcannie  Deans,  only  that  she 
has  mon;  tenderness.  She  would  have  spoken 
falsely  (I  am  sorry  to  say)  u>i  Kffie  ;  and  wf)ul(l 
have  died  of  it. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE      99 

Lady  R.  when  she  was  over  here  some  little  time 
ago,  said  to  me,  to  comfort  me,  I  suppose,  that 
though  Gretchen  was  a  sweet  girl,  she  did  not 
quite  see  what  there  was  in  her  to  make  her  so 
attractive  to  a  man  hke  me.  But  these  women 
do  not  always  exactly  vmderstand  one  another,  or 
appreciate  what  makes  them  dear  to  particular 
men.  She  added,  '  but  still  I  do  not  know  how  it 
was,  Gretchen  became  the  great  authority  in  our 
household :  they  all  referred  to  her  about  every- 
thing, and  she  did  a  good  deal  of  their  work  '.  In 
fact,  she  was  the  personification  of  common  sense  ; 
only  that  what  we  mean  by  common  sense  is  apt  to 
be  hard,  overwise,  and  disagreeable  :  hers  was  the 
common  sense  of  a  romantic  person  and  of  one 
who  had  great  perception  of  the  humorous.  I 
think  I  hear  her  low,  long-continued,  dimpling 
laugh  as  I  used  to  put  forth  some  of  my  odd  theories 
about  men  and  things,  to  hear  what  she  would  say. 
And  she  generally  did  say  something  fuUy  to  the 
purpose.  But  action  was  her  forte.  There  was 
a  noiseless,  soft  acti^^ty  about  her  hke  that  of 
light. 

Milverton.  You  speak  of  her  as  if  she  were  dead. 
Is  it  so  ? 

Ellesmere.  No  :  much  the  same  thing — married. 
There  was  an  opportunity  for  advancing  her  lover. 
It  was  done,  not  mthout  my  knowledge.  She  had 
by  this  time  saved  some  money.  They  were  mar- 
ried six  months  ago.  I  sent  the  wedding  gown. 
Do  not  let  us  talk  any  more  about  it.  I  tell  it 
you  to  show  you  how  deeply  I  care  about  your 
subject ;  for  sometimes  I  think  with  terror,  as  I 
go  along  the  streets,  that  but  for  my  providential 
interference,  Gretchen  might  have  been  like  one 
of  those  tawdry  girls  who  pass  by  me.  Yes,  she 
might.  I  observed  that  she  had  a  pure  horror  of 
debt ;  and  I  do  not  know  that  circumstances 
might  not  have   been  too  strong  for  her  virtue. 


100      THE  STORY  OF  A  GIRL'S  RESCUE 

For  by  nature  virtuous,  if  ever  •woman  was,  she 
was. 

Ellesmere  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes.  Then 
ho  said.  Let  us  have  no  more  of  this  talk  to-day, 
or,  indeed,  at  any  time,  unless  I  should  begin  the 
subject.  One  of  the  greatest  drawbacks  upon 
making  any  confidence  is  that,  as  regards  that 
topic,  you  have  then  lost  the  royal  pri\ilege  of 
beginning  the  discourse  about  yourself ;  and 
another  can  begin  to  speak  to  you,  or  to  think, 
(and  you  know  that  he  is  thinking)  about  the 
matter,  when  you  do  not  wish  it  to  be  so  much 
as  thought  of  by  anyone. 

He  tlu'ii  began  to  speak  about  some  chemical 
experiments  which  he  wanted  me  to  try  ;  and  from 
that  went  on  to  talk  al)ont  infusoria,  \vishing  me 
to  undertake  some  microscopical  investigations 
to  confirm,  or  disprove,  a  certain  theory  of  his  ; 
adding  l)y  way  of  inducement,  '  these  lower  forms 
and  orders  of  life  ought,  you  know,  to  be  very 
interesting  to  people  in  the  country,  who  them- 
selves in  comparison  with  us,  the  inhabitants  of 
towns,  can  only,  by  courtesy,  and  for  want  of 
more  precise  and  accurate  language,  be  said  to 
live.  In  fact,  their  exisfence  is  entirely  molluscous  '. 
Thus,  in  his  usual  jeering  way,  he  concluded  a  walk 
which  left  me  with  matter  for  meditation  for  many 
a  solitary  ramble  over  the  downs  which  wc  then 
traversed  on  our  way  hf)me\vards. 


CHAPTER  VLll 

KOMANCE  —  rrRTHER  CONSIDERATION  OF  THE 
CArSES  OF  THE  '  GREAT  SIN  '  —  IMAGINARY 
OBJECTIONS    TO   REFORINLS 

It  is  not  often  in  the  course  of  our  lives,  especially 
after  we  have  passed  our  nonage,  that  we  can 
reckon  upon  being  thoroughly  undisturbed  and 
free  to  think  of  what  we  like  for  a  given  time. 
It  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  travelling  in  a 
carriage  alone,  that  it  affords  an  admirable  oppor- 
tunity for  thinldng.  The  trees,  the  houses,  the 
farmyards,  the  woods  flit  by,  and  form  a  sort  of 
silent  chorus  from  the  outward  world.  There  is 
a  sense  of  power  in  overcoming  distance  at  no 
expense  of  muscular  exertion  of  one's  own,  which 
is  not  without  an  elevating  and  inspiriting  influence 
upon  the  thoughts.  The  fu-st  tiling,  however,  is, 
that  we  are  pretty  nearly  sure  of  being  undisturbed. 
The  noise  around  us  is  a  measured  one,  and  is  ac- 
counted for  ;  it  does  not,  therefore,  fret  the  most 
nervous  person.  Dr  Johnson  thought  that  travel- 
ling in  a  post-chaise  ■\A-ith  a  pretty  woman  was  one 
of  the  highest  delights  in  life.  Very  ungallantly 
I  venture  to  suggest  that  the  pretty  woman  had 
better  be  omitted.  She  ■nnll  talk  sometimes,  and 
break  the  whole  charm,  thus  preventing  you  even 
from  thinking  about  her. 

Having  such  notions  of  the  high  merits  apper- 
taining to  the  inside  of  a  post-chaise  in  motion  ; 

101 


102  ROMANCE 

in  fact,  considering  it  a  place  which,  for  the  re- 
search of  truth,  may  be  put  in  competition  with 
the  groves  of  Academus  ;  it  was  ^^^th  some  plea- 
sure that  I  found  m3^self  alone  in  the  carriage  which 
had  conveyed  Ellcsmere  to  tlie  neighbouring  rail- 
way station  on  his  return  to  town.  It  was  the 
first  time  since  our  Avalk  to  tlie  downs  that  I  had 
liad  to  myself,  and  been  able  to  think  over  all  that 
he  had  then  told  me.  He  was  right  in  saying  that 
his  story  bore  close  reference  to  the  subject  I  have 
been  considering.  That  such  a  man  should  find 
so  much  to  attach  himself  to  in  this  poor  German 
girl,  who  might  so  easily  have  been  found  in  a  very 
different  situation,  makes  one  think  with  dismay 
how  some  of  the  sweetest  and  liighest  natures 
amongst  ^\•omen  may  be  in  the  ranks  of  those  who 
are  abandoned  to  the  rude  address  of  the  coarsest 
and  vilest  of  men.  I  say  '  some  of  the  sweetest 
and  highest  natures  ',  for  there  is  a  cultivation 
in  women  quite  independent  of  literary  culture, 
rank,  and  other  advantages.  They  are  more  on 
a  level  with  each  other  than  men.  I  do  not  reckon 
this  as  a  proof  of  their  excellence  ;  nor  do  I  at  all 
indulge  in  the  fancy  that  tlicre  is  sometliing  so 
I)e(uliarly  charming  in  uncultivated  people.  On 
the  contrary,  they  arc  seldom  just,  seldom  tolerant ; 
and,  as  regards  innocence  and  child-like  nature, 
these  merits  abound  in  persons  the  most  culti- 
vated, and  (!ven  the  most  conversant  with  the 
worlrl.  I  have  no  doubt  we  all  appear  simple  and 
unsopliistieated  enough  to  superior  Ix'ings.  It  is 
not.  tlicrcforc,  that  I  mean  to  laud  the  innocence 
and  naivctr  of  ignorance  :  but  only  to  point  out 
that  there  is  a  certain  platform,  as  it  were,  of  grace 
and  unseKishness  ;  of  tact,  delicacy  and  teach- 
ableness, on  which  I  have  no  doubt  an  immense 
number  of  women  are  j)lace(l.  wliieh  makes  any 
corrufition  of  sucli  high  capabilities  the  more  to  be 
regretted. 


ROMANCE  103 

Dunsford,  in  his  Friends  in  Council,  has  failed 
in  representing  EUesmere,  if  he  has  not  shown  him 
to  be  a  most  accomphshed  man  and  a  thorough 
gentleman,  not  exactly  the  conventional  gentle- 
man, but  a  man  whom  savages  would  certainly 
take  to  be  a  chief  in  his  own  country,  shomng  high 
courtesy  to  others  with  a  sort  of  coolness  as  re- 
gards himself,  the  result  of  being  free  from  many 
of  the  usual  small  shames,  petty  ends,  trivial  vani- 
ties, and  masked  social  operations  which  dwarf 
men  in  their  intercoiu-se  with,  others,  or  make 
them  hke  clo^vns  daubed  over  in  ugly  patches. 
His  pursmts,  as  may  have  been  seen,  are  on  a 
larger  sphere  than  those  of  most  lawyers.  Very 
observant,  too,  of  the  world,  I  have  scarcely  a 
doubt  he  was  right  in  his  high  appreciation  of  that 
girl's  character. 

We  sometimes  think  we  have  no  romance  left ; 
but  with  all  our  borrowed  ways  of  thinking,  our 
fooHsh  imitative  habits,  our  estimations  grosser 
than  those  of  Portia's  disappointed  suitors,  some 
of  us  occasionally  do  still  look  at  things  and  people 
as  they  are.  And  that  alone  produces  romance 
enough. 

I  wonder  whether  Gretchen  had  any  love  for 
him  !  Alas,  I  suspect,  from  a  fond  \A-istful  way  in 
which  I  once  saw  Lucy  look  at  him,  that  there  is 
an  EngHsh  girl  who  would  mightily  hke  to  occupy 
Gretchen's  place  in  his  heart.  But  he  casts  not  a 
thought  at  her  :    such  is  the  perversity  of  things. 

But  I  must  turn  from  thinking  about  EUesmere 
to  the  consideration  of  my  subject,  which  is  favoured 
by  this  quiet  moment  and  this  retired  spot.  It 
seems  to  me  that  the  best  thing  I  can  do  ^vill  be, 
not  so  much  to  seek  for  new  arguments  and  new 
views,  as  to  strengthen  and  enlighten  those  already 
put  forward  in  a  preceding  chapter. 

I  spoke,   for  instance,   there  of  the  cause  that 


104  MORE  THOUGHTS  OF  THE  GREAT  SIX 

poverty  was  of  this  sin.  Now  women  do  not 
equally  partake  ^^^th  men  in  the  general  poverty 
in  a  land,  but  they  have  to  endure  an  undue  pro- 
portion of  it,  by  reason  of  many  employments 
being  closed  to  them,  so  that  the  sex  which  is  least 
able  and  least  fitted  to  seek  for  employment  by 
going  from  home,  finds  the  means  of  employment 
at  home  most  circumscribed. 

I  cannot  but  think  that  tliis  is  a  mismanagement 
which  has  proceeded,  hke  manj'  others,  from  a 
■\vTong  appreciation  of  women's  powers.  If  they 
were  told  that  they  could  do  many  more  things 
than  they  do,  they  would  do  them.  As  at  present 
educated,  they  are,  for  the  most  part,  thoroughly 
deficient  in  method.  But  this  surely  might  be 
remedied  by  training.  To  take  a  very  humble 
and  simple  instance.  Why  is  it  that  a  man-cook 
is  always  better  than  a  woman -cook  ?  Simply 
because  a  man  is  more  methodical  in  liis  arrange- 
ments, and  relies  more  upon  his  weights  and  meas- 
ures. An  eminent  physician  told  me.  that  he 
thought  that  women  were  nlisolutoly  deficient  in 
the  appreciation  of  time.  But  this  I  hold  to  be 
merely  one  instance  of  their  general  want  of  accu- 
racy, for  which  there  are  ea.sy  remeflies,  that  is, 
cusy  if  begun  early  enough.  Now  it  does  seem 
pe^rfectly  lurllcrous  that  in  thedisjjensing  <f  women's 
gear  tlu-y  should  need  ihc  intervention  of  men. 
I  dare  say  there  is  some  good  reason  for  the  present 
practice,  some  advantage  gained ;  but  I  should 
think  it  likely  that  this  .ulvantage  would  Ix;  far 
more  Ihan  counterbalanced  by  tlic  julvantage  of 
employing  women  altogether  in  these  transactions. 

Again,  in  the  f)roce.ss<  s  of  the  art«.  and  in  many 
ways  which  I  have  not  time  or  space  to  enter  upon, 
women  might  be  yirovided  with  new  sources  of 
eni|)!oymcnt.  if  they  were  })r()j)erly  trained. 

I»ut  the  truth  is,  there  is  a  great  want  of  ingenuity 
ncl    arrangement    throughout    the    world    in    not 


UNHAPPY  MARRIAGES  105 

providing  employment  for  its  iinemployed,  both 
men  and  women.  Things  that  imperatively  want 
to  be  done,  stare  you  in  the  face  at  every  corner. 

If  we  consider  the  nature  of  the  intellect  of  women, 
we  really  can  see  no  reason  for  the  restrictions 
laid  upon  them  in  the  choice  of  employments. 
They  possess  talents  of  all  kinds.  Government  to 
be  sure  is  a  thing  not  fit  for  them,  their  fond  pre- 
judices coming  often  in  the  way  of  justice.  Direc- 
tion also  they  would  want,  not  having  the  same 
power,  I  think,  of  imagination  that  men  have,  nor 
the  same  method,  as  I  observed  before.  But  how 
well  women  might  work  under  direction.  In  how 
many  ways  where  tact  and  order  alone  are  re- 
quired, they  might  be  employed  :  and  also  in  how 
many  higher  ways  where  talent  is  required. 

I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  say  something  about 
unhappy  marriages  as  a  cause  of  the  evil  I  have 
named  as  the  great  sin  of  great  cities.  Of  course 
there  are  a  great  many  unhappy  marriages.  A 
weighty  moral  -m-iter  of  the  present  day  intimates 
that  there  is  no  medium  in  the  felicity,  or  infelicity, 
of  mamage,  that  it  is  either  the  summit  of  joy  or 
the  depth  of  torment.  I  venture  to  differ  from 
him  in  this  respect.  On  the  contrary,  it  seems  to 
me  probable  that  in  marriage  the  whole  diapason 
of  joy  and  sorrow  is  sounded,  from  perfect  con- 
geniality, if  there  be  such  a  thing,  (which  I  doubt) 
to  the  uttermost  extent  of  irritable  uncongeniaHty. 

How  this  may  be  I  know  not,  but  though  un- 
happiness  in  marriage  may  form  some  justifica- 
tion of,  or  at  least  some  explanation  for,  other 
connections  more  or  less  permanent,  yet  I  contend 
no  want  of  domestic  love  or  peace  can  justify  the 
particular  sin  which  is  the  subject  of  our  present 
theme. 

At  the  same  time  I  am  far  from  pronouncing 
that  the  law  of  divorce  may  not  require  consider- 


106  UNHAPPY   MARRIAGES 

able  modification  ;  but  really  there  are  so  many 
large  questions  to  deal  with  in  reference  to  this 
present  subject,  that  I  feel  I  cannot  presume  to 
enter  upon  this  one  of  divorce,  to  discuss  which 
properly  would  require  any  one  man's  life.  I 
carmot,  however,  omit  all  allusion  to  it,  as  it  has 
undoubted  reference  to  the  subject  in  hand  ;  and 
I  may  remark  that  it  is  a  great  deal  easier  to  pass 
by  ^Iilton,  or  to  sneer  at  him,  for  his  great  work 
on  The  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce,  than  to 
answer  the  arguments  therein  contained.  The 
truth  is,  that  there  is  scarcely  any^vhere  a  mind 
sufficiently  free  from  the  overruling  influence  of 
authority  on  these  and  similar  subjects  to  be  able 
clearly  and  boldly  to  apprehend  the  question  for 
itself. 

However  it  does  not  become  us  to  pronounce, 
if  we  are  to  judge  from  the  results  only,  that  our 
present  notions  of  marriage  are  the  best  jDOssible. 
I  can  imagine  a  native  of  some  country  where 
])olygamy  is  practised,  contending  that  the  state 
of  things  in  his  own  country  in  this  respect  is  pre- 
ferable to  that  in  ours,  not,  perhaps,  as  producing 
less  misery,  but  at  any  rate  less  dishonour  both  to 
men  and  women.  We  should  find  it  difficult  to 
gainsay  him  in  this,  as  of  course  he  would  make 
much  of  the  immense  and  olivious  evils  of  the  sin 
we  have  Ijocu  considering. 

'J'he  greatest  and  mosf^  daiigcrDiis  ()l)j('ction,  I 
should  rather  say  assertion,  wliicli  will  l)e  made 
against  anything  that  has  Ix-en  said  in  this  chapter 
and  the  two  preceding  ones,  is  one  that  will  be 
uttenul  with  a  derisive  smile  Ijy  men  of  the  world, 
as  they  anr  called,  that  is  of  a  very  small  section 
of  it.  Thinking  they  are  deeply  cognizant  of  the 
human  lieart,  l)ecauso  they  are  very  much  afraid 
of  its  aberrations,  and  that  they  are  fully  awaro 
•  if    tlie    [iinvers    of    the    imaj^inat iou,    from    having 


IMAGINARY  OBJECTIONS  107 

little  themselves  and  discouraging  the  Uttle  they 
ever  had — lapped,  perhaps,  in  a  kind  of  prosperity 
which  singularly  bhnds  those  who  have  the  mis- 
fortune to  enjoy  an  uninterrupted  career  of  it- 
bounded  by  a  small  circle  of  equally  well-condi- 
tioned, self-satisfied  individuals — men  of  this 
kind  pronounce  not  only  upon  the  influx  and 
effiux  of  tea,  coffee,  sugar  and  gold,  (in  which  by 
the  way  their  dicta  are  generallj^  wrong)  but  they 
are  also  able  specifically  to  declare  about  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  the  passions  or  the  affections  ;  about 
the  tenderest  and  the  most  delicate  of  the  relations 
in  human  life.  Talk  to  any  man  of  this  worldly 
class  about  moral  causes,  or  rehgious  influences, 
he  is  equally  at  home  with  them,  as  if  you  were  to 
ask  him  about  the  subjects  most  '  immersed  in 
matter '.  I  can  see  the  self -sufficient  way  in 
which  if  he  had  lived  some  seven  hundred  years 
ago,  after  the  first  crusade,  he  would  have  pro- 
nounced with  a  wave  of  his  hand  after  dinner, 
that  there  never  could  be  such  another  adventure 
again,  as  the  first  had  by  no  means  been  found 
to  pay.  But  soon  all  Europe  is  listening  to  the 
clink  of  hammers  upon  harness,  and  thousands, 
himch'eds  of  thousands,  are  repeating  an  adventure 
not  good  in  a  commercial  sense,  but  still  which 
gave  a  dignity  to  them  such  as  the  stayers  at  home 
never  attained. 

Having  damaged,  as  much  as  I  can,  the  imagi- 
nary opponents  who  I  know,  however,  will  prove 
real  ones,  before  I  bring  their  saying  into  presence, 
I  will  now  tell  what  that  saying  will  assuredly  be. 

In  answer  to  all  that  has  been  urged  in  the  way 
of  remedy  for  this  evil,  they  will  simply  reply 
'  But  these  things  always  must  be,  the  laws  of 
supply  and  demand  hold  good  in  this  case  as 
in  others  ;  to  think  otherwise  is  the  mere  dream 
of  AVTiters  and  other  ideologists :  no  wonder 
Napoleon  disUked  such  people,  we  do  too '. 


K^8  IMAGINARY  OBJECTIONS 

To  this,  taking  them  on  their  owm.  ground,  I 
•would  reply  that  at  any  rate  the  force  of  circum- 
stances (a  phrase  they  delight  in)  may  be  so  adapted 
and  modified  as  only  to  meet  the  exact  necessities 
of  the  case.  I  mean,  for  instance,  that  those  by 
nature  most  inclined  to  innocence  should  have  the 
fairest  opportunities  of  remaining  innocent,  that 
in  short  it  should  be  the  Avorst  people  that  fell 
into  the  -worst  ways.  This  of  course  is  only  an 
ideal  scheme  too,  but  there  might,  however,  be  a 
practical  tendency  in  that  direction. 

In  reality,  however,  it  is  the  greatest  mistake 
to  suppose  that  such  laws  of  supply  and  demand 
are  not  oveiTuled  by  much  higlier  influences.  All 
things  depend  for  their  ultimate  aim  and  end  on 
the  spirit  in  which  they  are  undertaken,  which 
spirit  camiot  well  be  concealed.  The  measured 
generosity  of  mean  people,  whose  gifts  are  all 
strictly  related  to  duty,  does  not  deceive  others  ; 
the  bystander  knoAvs  that  these  peojde  are  not 
generous,  though  he  cannot  exactly  confute  them 
from  their  words  or  thoir  deeds.  Again,  people 
niay  pretend  to  be  religiou.s,  but  if  the  real  spirit 
is  not  in  tliem,  its  absence  is  soon  felt.  I  am 
merely  giving  these  as  instances  of  the  deficiency 
of  the  right  s]iirit  being  felt,  or  perceived,  even 
M-hcn  the  outward  deeds  or  Avords  are  there.  But 
the  spirit  which  results  from  conviction,  and  which 
gradually  modifies  jjublic  ojnnion,  is  one  of  the 
most  powerful  things  known  :  who  shall  put  limits 
to  it  ?  It  will  meet  and  occasionally  master  all 
the  passions.  Take  the  C|ucsti(m  of  duelling,  for 
instance  ;  if  you  could  have  lold  a  man  of  former 
times,  when  diicllinn  was  rife,  that  it  would  soon 
be  almost  done  away  with,  '  What  !  '  he  would  have 
exelainied,  '  will  then?  Ik^  no  lovers,  no  jealous 
Inishands,  no  mhIIs  to  take  the  inner  side  of,  no 
rudeness,  no  drunkenness,  no  e.ilumny,  no  slander  ? 
And,  if  there  are,  how  will  llie  ijuarrels  that  must 


IMAGINARY  OBJECTIONS  109 

arise  from  these  tilings  be  adjusted  ?  Do  not  talk 
such  Utopian  nonsense  to  me,  but  come  and  let 
us  practise  in  the  shooting  gallery '.  And,  yet, 
see  how  stealthily,  how  unassumingly,  how  com- 
pletely, public  opinion,  the  result  of  a  wise  and 
good  spirit  gradually  infused  into  men,  has  dis- 
armed duelhsm,  as  quietly,  in  fact,  as  the  king's 
guard  in  former  days  would  have  taken  away  the 
weapons  of  any  two  presumptuous  gentlemen  who 
brought  their  quarrelhng  too  near  his  Majesty's, 
\*icinity  in  his  parks. 

One  of  the  kind  of  reproaches  that  will  ever  be- 
made  -nith  much,  or  little,  justice,  (generally  with 
little  justice)  against  any  men  who  endeavour  to. 
reform  or  improve  anj-thing,  is  that  they  are  not 
ready  -with  definite  propositions,  that  they  are  like 
the  Chorus  in  a  C4reek  play,  making  general  re- 
marks about  natiire  and  human  affairs,  without 
suggesting  any  clear  and  decided  course  to  be  taken. 
Sometimes  this  reproach  is  just,  but  very  often,, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  is  utterly  unreasonable. 
Frequently  the  course  to  be  taken  in  each  indi\'i-. 
dual  instance  is  one  that  it  would  be  almost  im- 
possible to  decide,  still  more  to  lay  down  ^vith 
minuteness,  without  a  loiowledge  of  the  facts  in 
the  particular  instance  :  whereas  what  is  wanted 
is  not  to  suggest  a  course  of  action,  but  a  habit  of 
thought  which  Mill  modify  not  one  or  two  actions 
only,  but  all  actions  that  come  \\'ithin  the  scope 
of  that  thought. 

Again,  there  are  people  who  are  not  so  unreason- 
able as  to  expect  suggestions  that  will  exactly 
meet  their  own  indi\'idual  cases,  but  still  they  wish 
for  general  rules  or  general  propositions  to  be  laid 
down.  There  must  be  instant  legislation  to  please 
them,  something  %nsibly  done.  And  often  it  is . 
needful  that  something  should  be  done,  which 
however    falls,    perhaps,    under    the    functions    of  ■ 


110  FORMATION   OF  OPINION 

other  men  than  the  original  social  reformers. 
There  is  always  such  a  belief  in  what  is  mechanical, 
that  men  of  ordinary  niincls  cannot  assure  them- 
selves that  anything  is  done,  unless  something 
palpable  is  before  them,  unless  they  can  refer  to  a 
legislative  act,  or  unless  there  is  a  building,  an 
institution,  a  newspaper,  or  some  visible  thing, 
which  illustrates  the  principle.  But  in  reality  the 
first  thing  is  to  get  people  to  be  of  the  same  mind 
as  regards  social  evils.  When  once  they  are  of 
this  mind,  the  evils  v.i\\  soon  disappear.  A  wise 
conviction  is  like  light ;  it  gradually  dawns  upon  a 
few  minds,  but  a  sUght  mist  rises  also  with  this 
rise  of  light ;  as  the  day  goes  on  and  the  light 
rises  higher,  spreads  farther,  and  is  more  intense, 
growth  of  all  kinds  takes  jilace  silently  and  without 
great  demonstration  of  any  kind.  This  light  per- 
meates, colours,  and  enlarges  all  it  shines  upon. 

Now,  to  apply  some  of  these  thoughts  to  oiu" 
present  subject.  I  do  not  believe  that  there  will 
always  be  a  certain  set  amount  of  wrong-doing 
jn  this  or  in  any  other  case.  On  the  other  hand 
I  do  not  expect  that  people  will  suddenly  rush 
into  virtue.  To  take  a  very  Inimble  instance, 
the  suppression  of  smoke,  one  of  the  most  visible 
evils  in  the  world,  how  long  a  time  it  takes  to 
subdue  that.  From  Count  Rumford's  time  to 
the  present  day,  how  many  persons  have  written, 
I)reach(!d,  talked,  experimented,  on  the  subject. 
And  if  this  long  process  has  to  take  place  in  so 
obvious  a  matter,  how  much  more  must  it  be  so 
in  the  subtler  regions  of  men's  minds,  in  their 
habits  of  justice,  or  of  forethought.  Rut,  insen- 
sibly, even  in  these  dim  and  remote  regions,  good 
counsels,  or  evil  counsels,  will  eventually  prevail — 
— as  (piietly,  ])erhai)s,  but  as  sun^ly,  as  the  sub- 
merged  coral    rocks    grow    and   increases   from   the 

.ftccumulations    of    minute,    gelatinous,    molluscous 

.creatures. 


A  WORLDLY  OBJECTION  111 

The  train  of  thought  which  I  have  described 
above,  did  not  of  course  occur  to  me  in  the  me- 
thodical way  in  which  I  have  now  put  it  down, 
but  with  frequent  breaks  and  interruptions  both 
from  internal  thoughts  and  the  aspect  of  external 
objects.  Now  it  was  the  noise  of  the  mill,  now 
the  beauty  of  some  homestead,  now  the  neatness 
of  some  well-cultivated  field,  or  the  richness  of 
some  full  farmyard  that  claimed  my  attention. 
But  when  I  had  finished  thinking  of  the  answer 
that  must  be  given  to  that  worldly  objection  '  that 
there  is  a  demand  for  ■^vickedness  and  that  there 
must  be  a  supply  of  it ',  I  leaned  back  in  the  car- 
riage and  turned  my  mind  to  other  branches  of 
the  subject.  Just  at  that  time,  whether  it  was 
that  a  troop  of  little  children  came  out  of  a  school- 
house  close  to  the  road,  or  that  I  noticed  the  early 
budding  in  the  hedge -rows,  as  I  passed  along,  I 
began  to  think  of  what  had  been  alluded  to  in  a 
former  chapter,  namely,  what  a  beautiful  thing 
youth  is,  and  how  sad  that  it  should  be  spoilt  at 
its  outset.  And  I  went  on  to  think  not  only  of 
the  negative,  that  is,  of  the  loss  of  so  much  beauti- 
ful life  and  promise,  but  of  the  positive  misery  in- 
flicted, which  surely  is  well  worth  taking  into 
consideration. 

Tragedy  is  very  grand,  with  grand  accessories  : 

Presenting  Thebes',  or  Pelops'  line. 
Or  the  Tale  of  Troy  divine, 

when  a  purple-clad  man,  free  from  all  the  petti- 
nesses of  life,  pours  out  a  strain  of  sorrow  which 
melts  all  hearts,  and  goes  some  way  to  dignify  the 
sufferings  of  all  humanity.  But,  after  all,  in  some 
squalid  den,  as  great  if  not  a  greater  tragedy  is 
often  transacted,  only  without  the  scenery  and 
•decorations  of  the  other,  when  some  poor  victim 
of  seduction,  now  steeped  in  misery  and  sunk  in 
tthe  abysses  of  self- degradation,  amidst  blasphemy 


112  SELF-REFORM 

subject  to  reviling  that  she  scarcely  hears  or  easily 
endures  from  habit,  lies  on  the  bed  of  sickness 
thinking  of  her  mother's  gentle  assiduities  in  some 
of  the  ailments  of  her  childhood,  and  covers  her 
face  ^\-ith  her  hands  at  the  thought  that  that 
mother,  dead,  perhaps  heartbroken,  may  now, 
a  spirit,  be  looking  down  upon  her.  Well  might 
Camoens  wonder  '  That  in  so  small  a  theatre  as 
that  of  one  poor  bed,  it  should  please  Fortune  to 
represent  such  great  calamities.  And  I  too  ',  he 
says,  '  as  if  these  calamities  did  not  suffice,  must 
needs  put  myself  on  their  side  ;  for  to  attempt 
to  resist  such  evils  would  be  something  shameless  '. 
I  had  meditated  but  a  few  minutes  on  this  cry 
of  anguish,  which  I  seemed  to  hear  as  it  came 
from  the  dying  bed  of  one  of  the  most  unfortunate 
of  men  of  genius,  and  which  I  fancied,  too,  I  heard 
from  many  other  deathbeds,  when  we  turned 
out  of  the  main  road  into  the  lanes  which  lead  to 
Worth-Ashton.  With  all  our  pretences  at  govern- 
ing or  directing  our  thoughts,  how  they  lie  at  the 
mercy  of  the  merest  accident  !  Once  in  these 
lanes'  I  quitted  my  subject,  and  began  to  think 
how  the  way  to  my  house  might  be  shortened, 
and  I  was  already  deep  in  the  engineering  difficul- 
ties of  the  proceeding,  when,  somewhat  satirically 
I  said  to  myself,  wiiat  a  mania  you  have  for  im- 
proving everything  about  you  :  could  you  not, 
my  dear  Leonard,  spare  a  little  of  this  reforming 
energy  for  yourself  ?  One  w(Mild  think  that  you 
did  not  need  it  at  all  to  si-e  the  way  you  go  on 
writing  moral  essays.  Myself  replied  to  me,  this 
is. a  very  spiteful  remark  of  yours,  and  very  like 
what  Ellesmenj  would  have  said.  Have  I  not 
always  protejntt^^d  in  the  strongest  manner  against 
the  as8umj)tion,  that  a  writ<'r  of  nionil  essays  must 
be  a  nitmil  man  himself  ?  Your  friend  Kllesmere, 
in  reference  to  this  very  pf)int,  n'inarks  that  if  all 
clergymen    had    Ih-cii    Christians,    thert^    would    by 


SELF-REFORM  113 

this  time  have  been  no  science  of  theology.  But, 
jesting  apart,  it  would  be  a  sad  thing  indeed  if 
one's  ideal  was  never  to  go  beyond  one's  own  in- 
firmities. However,  myself  agrees  with  you,  my 
dear  I,  so  far,  that  it  is  much  safer  to  be  thought 
worse  than  better  than  one  really  is :  and  so 
blacken  me  as  much  as  you  like  and  detract  from 
me  as  much  as  you  can,  so  that  you  do  not  injure 
my  arguments  or  my  persuasions.  These  I  believe 
in,  and  will  endeavoiu*  to  carry  out,  just  as  if  they 
had  been  uttered  by  the  most  iiTeproachable  and 
perfect  man  in  the  world. 

ilaintaining  this  strange  dialogue  as  stoutly  as 
if  there  had  been  two  persons  instead  of  one  in  the 
carriage,  I.  or  rather  we  (I  wonder  whether  the 
editorial  '  we  '  is  thus  really  dual,  consisting  of  a 
man  and  his  conscience),  we,  I  say,  reached  the 
gate  of  Worth-Ashton,  pretty  good  friends  with 
each  other,  and  pleased  with  what  we  had  thought 
over  during  our  ride  homewards. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TRAVEL — EDUCATION — ILLEGITIMATE   CHILDREN 

Since  giving  an  account  of  my  last  reverie,  I  have 
been  abroad  for  a  short  time,  which  has  a  little 
interrupted  my  work,  but  I  now  resume  it  with 
less  feehng  of  weariness.  I  seldom  think  much 
during  a  tour.  Indeed  I  come  out  to  avoid  think- 
ing. I  do  not  come  to  see  what  can  be  said  or 
thought  about  any  jslace,  but  to  see  it.  Never- 
theles.s,  occasionally,  I  make  a  few  notes  consisting 
of  some  disjointed  words,  sufficient  to  recall  to  me, 
and  to  me  only,  what  were  the  things  which  made 
an  impression  upon  me. 

One  scene  of  this  last  journey  I  find  commemo- 
rated in  this  short  way  ;  and,  as  it  is  connected  with 
some  thoughts  wliich  carry  on  the  subjects  we  (my 
readers  and  I)  liave  lately  been  considering,  I  will 
recall  it. 

I  shall  not  tell  M-itli  any  preciseness  where  I  was  : 
for  if  I  did  so,  and  did  it  well,  my  countrymen 
would  flock  to  see  the  place.  Not  that  I  grudge 
them  seeing  anything.  I  suppose  it  happens  to 
many  of  us,  when  abroad,  to  feel  a  little  ashamed 
now  and  then  of  these  same  countrymen ;  but 
yet  I  often  think  with  pleasure  that  even  the  most 
coarse  and  obtuse  traveller  brings  back  something 
besides  self-conceit.  One  regrets  that  such  oppor- 
tunities are  not  always  besto^^ed  on  minds  fuUy 
able  to  profit  by  them  ;    but  still  one  hopes  that 


116  TRAVEL 

the  most  uncultivated  people  cannot  escape  getting 
some  little  advantage  from  their  travels  ;  and  if 
they  were  to  stay  at  home,  they  would  not  the  less 
remain  uncultivated  people. 

Such  travellers,  however,  would  not  thank  me 
at  all  for  describing  a  place  which  might  thus  get 
into  the  guide-books,  and  then,  alas  !  form  one 
more  spot  which  they  must  stop  to  look  at,  while 
they  would  far  rather  scamper  over  more  giound 
and  see  more  well-known  places  with  great  names. 
And  as  for  the  people  who  see  things  for  them- 
selves, they  will  not  pass  by  the  spot  in  question 
•without  giving  it  a  due  regard. 

And  what  a  scene  it  is  !  Across  a  wide  extent 
of  water  lies  a  bridge  of  immense  length  formed  of 
uneven  planks  supported  upon  piles.  There  is  no 
raiUng  to  the  bridge,  so  that  you  seem  almost  upon 
the  water,  and  you  have  the  sensation  of  being  at 
sea,  with  the  grandeur  and  without  the  misery, 
as  it  is  to  me,  of  such  a  situation.  Here  and  there 
is  an  oratory  out-jutting  from  the  line  of  planks, 
with  a  narrow  edging  of  stone  round  it. 

It  wiis  evening  when  I  came  upon  the  bridge, 
but  not  so  late  Jis  to  prevent  me  from  seeing  well 
the  country  about  me  which  at  intervals  went 
down  into  the  water  in  narroNv  tongues  of  land, 
with  l)uilding8  upon  them.  Immediately  on  the 
heights  above  me  were  an  old  tower  and  a  monas- 
tery. Near  the  land  some  giant  reeds  rose  up 
from  the  water,  but  difl  not  sway  to  and  fro  the 
]ei\nt,  for  there  was  not  a  breath  of  wind.  The 
only  noise  wixs  a  phish  of  tiie  water  against  a  jetty 
or  the  occasional  jumpinu  of  a  Hsh.  On  one  of  the 
Btrantre-looking  rocks  there,  whicli  come  abruptly  out 
of  the  water  jus  if  iisking  you  a  question  from  the 
deep,  reposed  a  meditati\e  crane  standing  upon 
one  leg. 

On  one  side  of  the  bridge  tiie  hills  rise  up  around 
you  evenly  and  the   mountain.s  are  well   balanced 


EDUCATION  117 

in  form  :  on  tlie  other  side,  they  descend  abruptly 
and  ascend  again,  lea^•ing  a  most  picturesque  gorge. 
Two  poplars  were  to  be  seen  on  the  lowland  near 
this  gorge. 

As  evening  deepened,  and  no  more  peasants  re- 
turning homeward  from  the  other  side,  saluted 
me  with  their  good-night,  the  houses  on  the  sur- 
rounding hills  showed  like  glow-worms,  and  all 
was  still,  save  the  plash  of  the  water  on  the  jetty. 

I  find  that  new  places  do  not  always  bring  new 
thoughts :  sometimes  they  only  intensify  those 
which  one  has  thought  before.  My  mind  went 
back  to  what  is  held  by  many  persons  to  be  a  most 
prosaic  subject — namely,  education.  And  T  thought 
how  education,  to  be  of  any  assured  worth,  must 
continue  throughout  life.  '  Now,  sir,  that  your 
education  is  ended ',  exclaims  the  parent  or  the 
guardian,  to  many  a  young  man  whose  education, 
in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word,  is  now  about  to 
begin.  This  is  the  mistake  that  we  make,  too, 
about  the  poor.  Reading  and  -RTiting  will  not  do 
alone.  You  might  as  well  prepare  for  a  liberal 
hospitaUty  by  a  good  apparatus  for  roasting  and 
boiling,  but  never  putting  on  any  viands,  so  that 
the  kitchen  machinery  went  on  grindin?  unceas- 
ingly, with  no  contentment  to  the  appetites  of  the 
hungry.  No :  before  we  shall  be  able  to  make 
much  of  education,  the  highest  amongst  us  must 
take  larger  views  of  it,  and  not  suppose  that  it  is 
a  mere  definite  quantity  of  cultivation — defined 
according  to  the  narrow  limits  of  the  fashions  of 
the  day. 

If  we  saw  this  clearly,  we  should  not  be  so  anxious 
to  succeed  at  college,  at  the  bar,  in  parliament,  in 
literatui'e,  or  in  any  one  art  and  science.  We 
should  perceive  that  there  was  a  certain  greatness 
of  nature  and  acquirement  to  be  aimed  at,  which 
we  would  not  sacrifice  to  any  one  pursuit,  worldly 
or  artistic. 


118  THE  END  OF  AMBITION 

I  stayed  no  longer  on  the  bridge,  but,  ascending 
from  it,  made  my  way  to  a  church  which  stood  on 
the  height  close  to  the  old  tower.  I  marked  in 
the  hght  of  the  moon  the  slight,  graceful,  fantastic 
crosses  in  iron-work,  teUing,  that  a  peaceful  popu- 
lation slept  beside  me  ;  and  I  sat  do%vn  upon  a  low, 
broad  stone  wall.  Thence  you  might  see  the  wide 
waters  and  some  houses  whose  shadows  lay  upon 
the  meads  which  skirted  the  waters. 

'  And  that  is  what  all  their  ambition  has  come 
to  ',  I  muttered  to  myself,  turning  to  the  crosses  : 

Linquenda  tellus,  et  domus,  et  placens 

(what  an  epithet !) 

Uxor  ;  neque  harum,  quas  colis,  arbonim, 
Te,  praster  in  visas  cupressns, 
U!la  hrcvnn  iloiniiiuiii  seqiieUir. 

These  inevitable  common-place  remarks  mostly 
contain  the  profoundest  and  the  sincerest  thought. 
Yes,  hfe  may  be  but  a  poor  Ijusiness  at  the  best, 
nevertheless,  said  I  to  myself,  I  will  try  to  do 
something  yet,  if  life  is  spared  to  me.  And  so, 
resuming  the  subject  wliich  I  had  been  working 
at  before  I  left  home  (namely,  the  gi-eat  sin  of 
great  cities),  I  began  to  consider  what  I  should 
conclude  by  saying,  just  as  if  I  had  been  in  my 
study  at  W'orth-Ashton. 

My  eye  wandered  over  the  dark  hills  catching 
every  now  and  then  the  glow-worm  light  which 
came  from  some  house  or  cottage  j)erched  up 
there.  I  pictured  (o  my.solf  the  dauglitcr  of  one 
of  these  homes  carried  oil  to  some  great  towTi, 
soon  to  be  lost  there  in  its  squalid  sul)urbs,  like 
lK>autiful,  spoilt  fruit  swejit  away  with  garbage 
into  the  (omnion  kennel.  The  girl,  j)erhaps,  is 
much  to  blame  herself,  for  we  must  a<Iinit  that 
the  fault  is  not  alwaj's  on  one  side,  and  we  must 
not  suffer  any  sickly  sentiment  to  darken   truth 


DUTIES  119 

and  justice.  Yes — she  may  be  much  to  blame  ; 
but,  surely,  the  -wiser  creature,  man,  is  more  so. 
Seduction  is  such  a  poor  transaction.  There  was 
a  time,  it  was  one  of  the  basest  times  the  world 
has  ever  seen,  when  seduction  was  thought  a  fine 
and  clever  thing  ;  but  now  who  does  not  see  that 
to  delude  a  woman,  a  creature  easily  to  be  de- 
luded, especially  through  its  affections,  is  a  slight, 
unworthy  tr^insaction,  and  but  for  its  dire  conse- 
quences, would  be  ludicrous,  like  cheating  a  child 
at  cards  ?  But  when  you  add  to  this  that  in  many 
a  case,  desertion  follows  so  rapidly  upon  seduction 
as  almost  to  appear  as  if  they  had  been  planned 
together,  then  the  smallness  of  the  transaction  is 
absolutely  lost  in  the  considerjition  of  its  baseness. 

However,  say  what  we  will,  there  will  often  be 
seductions ;  and  it  would  be  a  great  point 
gained,  if  desertion  should  be  looked  upon  "vvith 
greater  severity.  This  brings  me  at  once  to  the 
subject  of  what  are  called  illegitimate  cliildi-en. 

Xow,  duties  are  very  often  very  difficult  things 
to  apprehend  rightly.  As  everything  is  ultimately 
referred  to  duty,  and  as  a  great  many  things  in 
this  world  are  very  dubious,  it  is  manifest  that 
duties  are  very  often  dubious  hkewise.  There 
are  not  only  clear,  but  dim  and  shadowy  duties, 
if  I  may  so  express  them,  which  are  very  perplex- 
ing, and  occupy  much  of  a  man's  time  and  thought. 
Often  we  find  that  what  we  supposed  to  be  a  duty 
was  anything  but  a  duty.  The  great  persecutors 
for  opinion  have  probably  found  that  out  now ; 
and.  indeed,  on  earth,  we  often  discover,  that 
what  we  supposed  to  be  a  duty  and  performed 
with  earnest  diligence,  was  a  great  delusion.  Under 
these  circumstances,  it  does  seem  to  me  that  when 
we  have  before  us  an  undoubted  duty,  one  of  those 
things  wliich  come  under  the  axioms  of  morahty, 
we  can  hardly  lay  too  much  stress  on  the  perform- 
ance of  that.     It  is  like  what  we  ought  to  do  in  our 


120  ILLEGITIMATE  CHILDREN 

charities,  I  tiiink.  Cliarity  is  so  difficult  and  per- 
plexed a  thing,  that  when  a  man  has  got  hold  of  a 
flearly  good  charitj'  A\hich  he  can  carry  out,  he 
hid  better  do  that  thoroughly  than  dissipate  his 
rtsoiu-ces,  mental  and  physical,  in  any  efforts  of  a 
dubious  tendency. 

Now,  I  suppose,  there  are  few  things  clearer  to 
the  human  mind, 

to  saint,  to  savage  and  to  sage, 

than  that  a  father  owes  duties  to  his  child.  The 
dullest  savages  have  seen  that.  Even  Lacedae- 
monians, if  they  put  off  individual  fatherhood, 
only  did  so  by  throwing  it  upon  the  commimity. 
How  can  a  man,  for  a  moment,  imagine,  that  aiiy 
difference  of  rank  (a  mere  earthly  arrangement) 
between  the  mother  of  liis  child  and  himself  can 
absolve  him  from  paternal  duties  ?  I  am  lost  in 
astonishment  at  the  notion.  And  then  imagine 
a  man,  performing  all  manner  of  minor  duties, 
neglecting  this  first  one  the  while.  I  always  fancy 
that  we  may  bo  surrounded  by  spiritual  powers. 
Now,  think  wliat  a  horrible  mockery  it  must  seem 
to  them,  when  they  behold  a  man  going  to  charity 
dinners,  busying  himself  about  flannel  for  the 
poor,  jabbering  about  education  at  public  meet- 
ings, immei-sed  in  indifferent  forms  and  ceremonies 
of  religion,  or  raging  against  such  things,  because 
it  is  his  duty,  as  he  tells  you  ;  and  at  the  door 
holding  a  link,  or  jn-rhaps  at  that  moment  bringing 
home  the  jModuce  of  small  thefts  in  a  neighbouring, 
narrow  alley,  is  his  own  child,  a  |)imlied-up,  hag- 
gard, outcast,  cunning-looking  little  thing.  Throw 
down,  man,  the  flannel  and  the  soap  and  the  edu- 
cation and  the  i'opery  and  the  Protestantism  ; 
and  go  up  that  narrow  alley  and  tend  your  child  : 
do  not  heap  that  palpably  unjust  burden  on  the 
back  of  a  world  which  has  enough  at  all  times  of 
its   own    to    bear.     If   you    cannot  find   your   own 


ILLEGITIMATE  CHILDREN  121 

child,  adopt  two  others  in  its  place,  and  let  your 
care  for  them  be  a  sort  of  sin-offering.  These  are 
indignant  words,  but  not  more  so  than  is  right,  I 
do  beheve,  and  I  will  not  suppress  one  of  them. 

I  am  not  ignorant  of  the  difficulty  of  doing  as 
I  would  have  a  man  do  in  such  a  case.  I  do  not 
write  as  a  hermit  or  a  clergyman,  but  as  a  man 
who  thinks  he  knows  something  of  the  world. 
To  OT^ii  to  immorality,  to  have  that  fair  respect- 
ability spotted  which  we  all  value  so  much,  and 
which  is  valuable,  is  no  slight  effort.  A  man  who 
would  beard  a  lion  in  his  den,  will  shrink  from 
doing  Avhat  he  ought  to  do,  lest  in  so  doing  his 
neighbours  should  say  unpleasant  words  about 
him  behind  his  back.  And  yet  there  have  been 
respectable  men  who  have  worn  beards  and  strange 
hats  which  their  neighbours  did  not  wear,  a  more 
daring  thing,  perhaj^s,  than  owning  to  any  im- 
morahty  and  endeavouring  to  reiian  it. 

There  are  men  who  have  secretly  supported  the 
_  bm-den  of  an  illegitimate  family :  these  at  lea-st 
are  far  better  men  than  those  who  have  joined 
the  world  in  ignoring  the  existence  of  those  they 
were  bound  to  know  of  and  to  succour.  Great 
kings  who  ca,n  afford  to  set  aside  conventionality, 
before  whom  '  nice  custom  curtseys  ',  have  boldly 
taken  charge  of  their  illegitimate  children,  and  the 
world  has  not  thought  the  worse  of  them  for  that, 
whatever  it  may  justly  have  thought  of  the  rest 
of  their  proceedings. 

Some  may  reply  all  this  acknowledgment  is  en- 
couragement. I  say  not.  I  say  it  holds  before 
a  person  those  duties,  the  general  forgetfulness 
of  which  encourages  to  immorality.  But,  really, 
fine  questions  of  general  morality  ought  to  be  of 
second-rate  importance  to  a  man  who  is  neglecting 
his  first  duties. 

Is  it  not  so,  I  said,  looking  round  upon  the 
thin  shadows  cast  by  the  crosses  over  the  graves  ? 


122         HOPES  IN  A  FUTURE  STATE 

Silent  population,  (any  one  of  whom,  the  meanest, 
could  now  tell  us  more,  mayhap,  than  all  the  wise 
men  and  doctors  of  this  earth)  silent  population, 
is  it  not  so  ?  But  none  answered,  unless  a  sigh 
of  the  breeze  wliich  now  stole  over  the  church- 
yard was  the  expression  of  one  of  those  subtle 
chords  of  sympathy,  rarely  heard,  still  more  rarely 
appreciated,  which,  perhaps,  bring  animate,  and 
what  we  call  inanimate  nature  into  secret,  strange 
communion. 

I  went  down  again  upon  the  bridge,  looked  up 
at  the  solemn  sky,  for  the  moon  wivs  clouded  now, 
and  beneath  me  at  the  dim  waters,  being  able  to 
discern  naught  else  :  and  still  A\ith  some  regard 
to  what  I  had  been  thinking  of  in  the  churchyard, 
hoped  that,  in  a  future  state  at  least,  we  might 
have  some  opportunity  of  loving  and  making  our 
peace  with  those  whom  we  have  wronged  here, 
and  of  seeing  that  our  VTong,  overruled  by  infinite 
goodness,  has  not  wrought  all  the  injury  wliich 
there  was  in  it  to  do. 

So  I  walked  on,  having  those  dim  apprehen- 
sions and  imdefined  feelings  which  are  3'ct,  per- 
haps, the  unfashinned  substance  of  our  sincerest 
and  most  exact  afterthought,  until  darkness  and 
the  cold  and  the  thought  of  to-morrow's  journey 
drove  me  homeward — the  homo  so  eml)lematical 
for  man  in  his  pilgrimage — the  homo  of  an  inn. 


CHAPTER  X 

BOOKS,      THEIR      HELPFULXESS — inSFORTTTN'ES     AXI> 
APFUCTIOX —  CONSOLATION  S 

So  varied,  extensive  and  pervading  are  human 
distresses,  sorrows,  shortcomings,  miseries  and 
misadventures,  that  a  chapter  of  aid  or  consola- 
tion never  comes  amiss,  I  think.  There  is  a  pitiless, 
pelting  rain  tliis  morning ;  hea^-ily  against  my 
study  windows  drives  the  south-western  gale  ; 
and  altogether  it  is  a  very  fit  day  for  working  at 
such  a  chapter.  The  indoor  comforts  which  enable 
.one  to  resist  with  composure,  nay  even  to  welcome, 
this  outward  conflict  and  hubbub,  are  like  the 
plans  and  resources  provided  by  philosophy  and 
religion,  to  meet  the  various  calamities  driven 
against  the  soul  in  its  passage  thiough  tliis  stormy 
^orld.  The  books  which  surround  me  have  been 
found  an  equal  resource  in  both  respects,  both 
against  the  weather  from  without  and  from  within, 
against  physical  and  mental  storms :  and,  if  it 
might  be  so,  I  would  pass  on  to  others  the  comfort 
Avhich  a  seasonable  word  has  often  brought  to  me. 

If  I  were  to  look  round  these  shelves,  what  a 
host  of  well-loved  names  would  rise  up,  as  those 
who  have  said  brave  or  wise  words  to  comfort 
and  aid  their  brethren  in  adversity.  If-  seems  as 
if  Httle  remained  to  be  said  ;  but  in  truth  there 
is  alwavs  waste  land  in  the  human  heart  to  be 
tilled. 


124  mSFORTUNEP 

The  first  tumg  which  occurs  to  me,  is,  that  in 
bearing  misfortune  and  vexation,  as  in  overcoming 
temptation,  there  is  a  certain  confidence  which 
had  better  be  put  aside.  Tliis  confidence  some- 
times results  from  a  faith  in  reason,  or  rather  a 
faith  in  our  being  exactly  amenable  to  reason. 
For  instance,  it  is  some  time  before  a  man  ceases 
to  have  a  full  belief  in  his  own  powers  of  accom- 
plishing by  direct  means  the  absolute  rule  in  his 
mind.  If  he  is  convinced  of  a  thing,  he  says  to 
himself,  of  course  he  will  act  accordingly.  It 
astonishes  liim  to  hear  of  men — great  men — who 
could  not  overcome,  or  found  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty in  overcoming,  some  small  habit.  Indeed, 
according  to  liis  brave  imaginings,  he  intends 
always  to  overcome  terrors  and  temptations,  not 
merely  to  avoid  them.  Such  is  a  very  juvenile 
though  a  very  natural  mode  of  thinking.  It  re- 
quires a  good  many  fallings  in  the  mire,  before 
a  man  finds  that  his  owti  mind,  temperament  and 
faculties,  are  tilings  which  will  give  ium  as  much 
or  more  trouble  to  manage,  than  his  affairs,  or 
his  family,  or,  than  the  whole  world  besides. 

But  as  a  man  learns  certain  rules  of  health,  so 
that  it  is  said  that  at  forty  h'^  is  eitlu^r  a  fool  or 
a  physician,  so  again,  in  dealing  with  the  affec- 
tions of  the  mind,  there  comes  a  skill  which  is  not 
to  be  despised  :  and  a  man  finds  that  the  evil  he 
cannot  master  he  can  ignore,  the  care  he  cannot 
efface  he  can  elude,  the  felicity  he  cannot  accom- 
plish he  can  weitrli  and  uiulcrstand,  and  so  reduce 
it  from  the  size  it  would  occupy  in  his  imagination 
to  its  proper  and  reasonal)lc  limits.  At  last  even 
sensitive  people  learn  to  suffer  less  from  sensitive- 
ness ;  not  that  it  yrows  dull  by  age,  but  that  they 
learn  to  manage  it  better. 

As  a  sound  preparation  for  consolation  of  various 
kindH,  I  would  l)e^in,  not  by  wilfully  magnifying 
evils,  iiut  by  slidwiiiL'  their  tnie  proportions,  which 


mSFORTUNES  125 

no  doubt  makes  them  seem  larger  than  the  im- 
agination of  the  young,  mistaught  by  many  im- 
sound  fictions,  pictures  them  to  be.  But  nothing 
can  be  better  than  the  truth.  In  its  hand  are  all 
earthly  and  all  heavenly  consolations.  As  an 
instance  of  what  I  mean,  there  is  a  common  fancy 
that  an  imtoward  event  generally  comes  and  goes, 
Tvith  considerable  rapidity — and  there  an  end ; 
vrhereas  it  is  very  often  a  long-continued  process. 
You  do  not  fall  sheer  down  a  precipice,  but  go 
tumbling  by  degrees,  drinking  in  the  full  measure 
of  danger  and  horror,  catching  at  bushes  here  and 
there,  now  imagining  for  a  moment  that  you  have 
found  security  on  some  projecting  ledge  ;  and  then 
finding  the  ground  crumbhng  under  you  :  and  so 
you  faU  onwards  tUl  you  reach  the  lowest  leveL 
The  above  is  rather  a  strong  image,  but  it  may 
conve}^  what  I  intend. 

To  illustrate  it  in  practice — most  men  who  have 
Kved  any  time  in  the  world,  unless  they  have  been 
the  very  minions  of  fortune,  in  which  case,  by  the 
way,  they  are  not  much  to  be  envied,  have  vexa- 
tions of  considerable  standing — long  lawsuits, 
disastrous  adventures,  an  ill-conducted  child,  or 
some  other  terrible  relative,  a  deplorable  shame, 
often  such  a  mingled  tissue  of  fault  and  misfortune, 
that  they  cannot  pity  themselves  sufficiently  for 
blame  at  their  folly  ;  and  they  return  from  think- 
ing over  the  folly  to  grie-\-ing  over  the  ill-luck  (as 
they  caU  it)  which  brought  out  the  folly  so  re- 
markably on  that  particular  occasion. 

Such  a  course  of  tilings  requiring  time  for  its 
development,  can  hardly  fail  to  exercise  in  vexa- 
tion aU  the  moods  and  faculties  of  a  man.  A 
statesman  does  not  perhaps  work,  intellectually 
speaking,  harder  than  a  law^'er  in  great  practice  ; 
but  the  cares  of  the  latter  are  cares  which  begin 
and  end  ^-ith  the  day ;  not  long  lines  of  poHcy 
which  require   time   and  protracted   care   on   one 


126  CONSOLATION 

subject  to  work  out,  and  where  failure  often  comes 
bv  slow  degrees. 

"^Now,  then,  for  the  attempt  at  aid  or  consolation 
in  such  a  case.  Suppose  the  course  of  events  I 
have  spoken  of  to  be  one  of  failure  and  vexation — 
reahzed,  or  about  to  be  so,  to  use  an  American 
phrase,  and  a  very  good  one.  A  ^\■ise  man  (but 
that  word  '  \\ise  '  is  hardly  a  fit  adjective  to  put 
before  '  man  ',  it  would  be  better  to  say,  a  man 
well-read  in  the  heart,)  sees  when  he  has  suffered 
enough  from  these  lengthened  trains  of  evil,  when 
he  has  exhausted  the  instruction  from  them  ;  and, 
though,  from  time  to  time  he  may  revert  to  them, 
as  new  views  or  new  circumstances  occur,  enabling 
him  to  look  down  from  a  fresh  height,  as  it  were, 
on  these  long,  dreary,  disastrous  passages  of  his 
life,  yet  he  resolves  substantially  to  have  done 
with  them ;  and,  when  he  finds  them  invading 
his  mind  and  memory,  adroitly  he  contrives  at 
once  to  occupy  it  with  something  else. 

With  his  wisdom  of  this  world.  Napoleon,  no 
doubt,  took  care  not  to  let  his  Russian  campaign 
press  fatally  upon  his  recollections. 

Another  way  for  a  man  in  sucli  a  case  is  to  quote 
these  disiistcrs  fearlessly  to  himself,  and  some- 
times to  others,  as  dear-bought  bits  of  experience, 
now  possessions :  bought,  it  is  true,  at  a  most 
extravagant  price,  but  still  a  Uttle  property,  far 
better  than  nothing. 

There  is  great  humility  in  such  plans  as  the 
above  :  the  man  who  ad()i)t3  them  h;us  found  out, 
or  at  lea.st  he  thoroughly  HUsjM-cts.  his  own  weak- 
ness, and  is  willing  to  'avail  liimsclf  of  any  fair 
advantage  to  fight  with  the  numerous  enemies 
that  surround  him.  Like  a  wise  commander,  he 
looks  about  for  the  sligiitest  rising  ground. 

The  sauK^  adroitness  and  ])ractical  wisdom  may 
be  ni.uiifcsted,  not  only  in  thought  but  in  action. 
A    fiiciid   i.f   iniuc    who"  liad   to   ••ittcnd   a  series   of 


CONSOLATION  127 

interviews,  in  which  business  was  discussed  of 
much  vexation  to  him,  and  where  he  had  to  under- 
go, justly,  much  contumely,  discovered  that  the 
occasions  when  he  gave  way  to  temper  and  be- 
haved un-n-isely,  were  those  in  which  he  rode  on 
a  tiresome  horse  to  the  place  of  business.  This 
is  very  natural :  his  nerves  were  a  httle  ruffled 
in  managing  the  imruly  quadruped  ;  his  powers 
a  little  impaired  ;  his  composure  slightly  broken 
through  to  begin  with :  and,  where  tilings  are 
nicely  balanced,  this  slight  disturbance  of  equani- 
mity might  turn  the  scale.  Afterwards,  he  took 
care  to  go  to  the  place  of  these  interviews  always 
in  the  easiest  manner,  and  noted  the  good  effect 
of  this  change.  How  trivial  such  an  anecdote 
will  seem,  except  to  those  who  know  the  world 
well,  and  have  seen  how  important  small  things  may 
be  when  they  happen  to  be  brought  into  the  same 
narrow  compass  of  affairs  -with  great  ones. 

But,  now  to  pass  to  other  subjects  of  human 
distress,  and  first  among  them,  to  all  that  is  suffered 
from  obloquy. 

In  bearing  obloquy,  it  maj^  be  noted  by  way  of 
consolation,  that  the  world  is  always  correcting 
its  opinions  ;  that,  except  amongst  yom-  particular 
friends  and  relations,  who  have,  perhaps,  taken 
up  a  most  erroneous  view  of  your  character  ;  and, 
in  the  pride  of  a  little  knowledge,  will  never  let 
it  go  ;  the  general  body  of  opinion  is  very  fluent, 
and,  at  last,  everj^tliing  has  a  hearing.  I  have  a 
private  suspicion  of  my  own,  that  some  of  those 
Roman  Emperors  we  read  of,  have  been  maligned 
a  little.  Somebody  else  perhaps  has  the  same 
notion ;  if  it  is  a  just  one,  it  wiU  yet  be  in- 
vestigated, and  what  there  is  true  ia  it  be  sifted 
out. 

It  is  certainly  a  long  time  to  wait,  for  ages,  to 
have  an  unjust  opinion  of  you  corrected  ;  but  if 
fame   is   worth  anything  at  all,   then  there    is    a 


128  CONSOLATION 

consolation  in  thinking  that  eventually  yon  have  a 
chance  of  being  fairly  dealt  Mith. 

By  way  of  comfort  in  bearing  calumny,  it  may 
be  observed  that  calumny  does  not  originate  in 
the  way  ordinarily  supjiosed  ;  that  there  is  rarely 
any  such  thing  ;is  a  system  of  active,  well-regulated, 
well-aimed  calumny,  arising  out  of  malice  pre- 
pense ;  but  that  far  more  often  it  has  its  source 
in  honest  ignorance,  mean-mindedness,  or  absolute 
mistake.  It  is  to  be  viewed,  therefore,  in  the  light  of 
a  misfortune  rather  than  in  that  of  a  persecution. 

Any  man  of  many  transactions  can  hardly  expect 
to  go  through  life  ^^•ithout  being  subject  to  one  or 
two  very  severe  calumnies.  Amongst  these  many 
transactions,  some  few  will  be  with  very  ill-con- 
ditioned people,  with  very  ignorant  people,  or 
perhaps  ^Wth  monomaniacs  (and  much  less  account 
is  taken  of  them  than  ought  to  be)  and  he  cannot 
expect,  tlierefore,  but  that  some  narrative  of  a 
calumnious  kind  will  have  its  origin  in  one  of 
these  transactions.  It  may  then  be  fanned  by 
any  accidental  breeze  of  malice  or  ill-fortune,  and 
become  a  very  serious  ek^ment  of  mischief  to  him. 
Such  a  thing  is  to  be  looked  upon  tis  pure  mis- 
fortune coming  in  the  ordinary  course  of  events  ; 
and  the  way  of  treating  it,  is  to  deal  ^\^th  it  as 
calmly  and  philosophically  as  \\-ith  any  other 
misfortune.  .As  some  one  has  said,  the  mud  will 
rub  off  when  it  is  dry  and  not  b(>fore.  The  drying 
will  not  always  come  in  the  calumniated  man's 
time,  unless  in  favourable  seaaoas,  which  ho  can- 
not command.  It  is  not  wise,  liowev(>r,  to  be  very 
impatient  to  justify  one's  self  ;  and,  altogether, 
too  much  stress  sliould  not  be  laid  upon  calumny 
by  the  calunniiatcd,  clsi!  their  serious  work  will 
be  for  ever  int(!rrupted  ;  and  tliey  should  remember 
that  it  is  not  so  much  tluur  l)usinfss  to  ex})lain  to 
others  all  they  do,  a«  to  be  sure  that  it  will  bear 
explanation  and  satisfy  themselves. 


CALmiNY  129 

When  I  was  in  the  habit  of  seeing  something 
of  official  life,  I  used  to  wonder  that  a  great  depart- 
ment suffered  itself  to  be  calumniated,  and  made 
no  sign  ;  but  older  and  wiser  heads  than  mine  soon 
convinced  me  that  their  business  did  not  admit 
of  their  confuting  every  idle  and  erroneous  state- 
ment that  was  made  about  them,  and  that  they 
were  mainly  to  answer  to  those  persons  who  had 
authority  to  question  them.  The  same  judicious 
maxim  apphes  also  to  private  life. 

Not  far  removed  from  calumny,  and  often  leading 
up  to  it,  is  injurious  comment  on  people's  conduct, 
which  when  addressed  or  repeated  to  them,  or 
imagined  by  them,  is  apt  to  vex  them  sorely.  But 
really  if  it  were  considered  how  utterly  incompetent 
men  are  to  talk  of  the  conduct  of  others,  as  they 
do,  the  talkers  would  often  be  silenced  at  once, 
and  the  sufferers  as  readily  consoled.  In  the  first 
place  how  imperfect  is  our  knowledge  of  our  neigh- 
bour's circumstances.  You  suppose  a  man  rich 
and  he  is  poor  ;  or  rich,  but  with  perils,  claims, 
and  responsibiUties  of  which  you  know  nothing  ; 
you  suppose  liim  healthy,  and  he  is  tortiu-ed  by 
some  internal  disease  ;  you  suppose  him  unhappy 
in  his  domestic  relations,  and  he  is  most  fehcitous  ; 
or,  on  the  other  hand,  you  suppose  him  lapped  in 
the  loving  regards  of  his  family,  and  all  the  whil^ 
he  has  a  wretched  contentious  home  ;  you  suppose 
him  a  man  of  leisure,  and  he  is  cumbered  with 
cares,  duties,  labours  and  endeavours,  of  wliich 
you  have  not  the  sUghtest  conception — what  is 
your  comment  on  this  man's  conduct  worth  ? 
Then  if  we  observe  the  difference  of  men's  natures. 
and  consider  the  want  of  imagination  in  most  men 
which  confines  them  to  the  just  appreciation  of 
those  natures  only  which  are  hke  their  own,  how 
much  this  complicates  the  question.  Probably 
the    difference    of    temoerament    amongst    men    is 


130  JUDGMENT  OF  OTHERS 

as  great  as  that  amongst  the  different  species  of 
animals — as  between  that,  for  instance,  of  the  lively 
squirrel  and  the  solemn  crane.  Now,  if  only  from 
this  difference  between  them,  the  squirrel  would 
be  a  bad  judge  of  the  felicity,  or  generosity,  or  the 
domestic  conduct,  of  the  crane. 

Probably  when  we  are  thinking  or  talking  of  a 
person,  we  recall  some  visual  image  of  that  person. 
I  have  thought  what  an  instructive  thing  it  would 
be,  if  under  some  magic  influence,  like  that,  for 
example,  wliich  would  construct  a  '  palace  of 
truth  ',  it  were  arranged  that  as  we  gave  out  our 
comments  on  the  character  or  conduct  of  any 
person,  this  image  on  the  retina  of  memory  should 
change  according  to  the  truth,  or  rather  the  want 
of  it,  in  our  remarks.  Gradually,  feature  after 
feature  would  steal  away  till  we  gazed  at  nonentity, 
or  we  should  find  another  image  glide  into  the  field 
of  view,  somebody  we  had  never  seen  perhaps, 
but  to  whom  the  comments  we  were  uttering,  really 
did  apply. 

Now,  the  sufferers  from  injurious  and  unjust 
comment  might  treat  the  whole  thing  as  one  which 
lacked  reality.  The  blame  itself  is  often  good 
enough,  well-comparted,  forcible,  ha%ing  an  ap- 
pearance of  justice — but  withal  no  foundation  in 
real  circumstances,  so  that  it  is  only  good,  if  you 
may  say  so,  in  a  literary  sense,  as  good  fiction, 
but  having  no  ground-work  in  real  life.  How 
little  ought  a  thoughtful  man  to  be  long  vexed  at 
such  stuff,  immaterial  in  every  sense. 

Besides,  none  of  the  great  teachers  have  taught 
UH,  that  to  be  reviled  is  any  signal  misfortune ; 
and  there  has  lx>en  one,  the  greatest,  who  has 
pronounced  it  to  be  fraught  with  blessing. 

In  Ijcaring  neglect,  the  next  evil  to  calumny, 
and  a  sc^rt  of  disengaged  shadow  of  it,  many  aids 
may  be  given  to  those  who  will  be  content  to  take 


NEGLECT  131 

tliem.  No  doubt  neglect  is  hard  to  bear  for  one 
who  feels  that  he  ought  not  to  be  neglected.  But 
where  this  is  justly  felt,  the  neglect  may  generally 
be  traced  up  to  some  source  Avhich  is  not,  neces- 
sarily, a  painful  one.  A  man  will  not  condescend 
to  use  certain  means,  and  yet  would  have  what 
those  means  alone,  or  best,  can  give  him  ;  or  he 
insists,  in  his  mental  cogitations,  upon  possessing 
that  which  could  hardly  be  got  except  with  the 
aid  of  certain  advantages  joined  to  merit,  which 
advantages,  whether  Avisely  or  not,  Nature  or 
Fortune  has  denied  him.  Having  one  stout  friend 
(as  Bacon,  before  quoted,  has  noticed)  what  will 
it  not  do  for  a  man  ?  There  are  certain  things  he 
cannot  say  for  himself.  If  he  says  them,  they  turn 
into  shame,  vainglory,  and  mischief,  instead  of 
aid  and  honour  to  him  ?  Well,  he  has  no  friend  to 
back  him  at  the  right  time,  how  can  he  get  those 
advantages  which  such  a  friend  could  gracefully 
obtain  for  him  ?  Frequently,  perhaps  most  fre- 
quently, the  friend  in  question  comes  forward  in 
the  shape  of  a  relation  who  has  a  direct  interest 
in  the  fortunes  of  the  man  he  puts  forward.  This 
is  called  having  good  connexions.  Any  neglected 
man  of  merit  ought  not  to  suffer  himself  to  be  quite 
disheartened  because  he  was  not  born  with  such 
relations.  Neither  were  the  poor  men  who  dig  in 
the  fields. 

But  neglect  is  only  one  phase  of  what  man  hates 
more,  and  suffers  more  from,  than  almost  anytliing 
else — namely,  injustice.  His  sensitiveness  in  this 
respect  is  very  remarkable.  A  little  ^vrong  out- 
weighs a  great  injury.  Indeed,  the  things  are  not 
to  be  weighed  in  the  same  scales,  are  practically 
incommensurable.  The  sea  invades  a  man's  estate, 
and  retires  carrjdng  away  land  and  crops,  leaving 
sand  where  there  was  alluvial  soil :  it  is  a  mis- 
fortime  ;    and  he  has  a  dull  sense  of  sorrow  and 


132  INJUSTICE 

vexation  if  the  loss  is  one  of  magnitude.  But  the 
poor  blind  elements  meant  no  harm,  or  if  he  thinks 
they  were  guided,  he  knows  it  was  by  one  whose 
chastisements  must  be  blessings. 

Again,  suppose  him  to  have  spent  much  money 
in  riotous  living.  Well,  he  thinks  of  this  ^v\ih. 
shame,  especially  when  some  good  comes  in  his 
way  to  do,  and  he  sees  what  he  might  have  done 
with  the  squandered  resources.  Still  there  was 
something  for  his  money.  He  was  not  cheated  ; 
he  was  mistaken. 

But  observe  the  same  man  on  looking  over  a 
bill  of  costs :  where,  often,  for  many  items  to  - 
gether,  it  is  only  wrong-doing  requiring  to  be  paid, 
and  he  feels  that  when  he  pays  it,  he  is  helping  to 
support  a  vicious  system  of  things.  It  is  not  well 
to  be  of  his  family  circle  on  the  day  when  he  settles 
those  accounts,  unless  he  is  one  of  those  rare  and 
generous  creatures  who  do  not  mitigate  their  own 
misfortunes  by  unkindness  to  those  with  whom 
they  live.  No  liberality  of  nature  will  suffice  to 
soothe  his  mind.  It  is  not  a  question  of  liberality. 
The  same  man  who,  with  Lutiier,  would  say  to  his 
wife.  Why  did  we  not  give  the  silver  cup  to  that 
poor  man  as  we  had  no  money,  will  haggle  over  an 
unjust  or  unsatisfactorj'^  ])aymont  from  morning 
till  night.  But  it  is  a  quc^stion  of  wisdom  and 
experience:  for  a  wise  and  well-informed  man  will 
see  what  must  almost  inevitably  be  the  evil  results 
of  the  particular  form  of  laws  he  lives  under  (for 
codes  are  the  doing  of  very  imperfect  creatures 
with  a  limited  range  of  circumstances  before  them) 
and  he  does  not  expect  to  go  into  the  most  vexed 
and  troublous  j)art  of  human  alTairs,  and  come  out 
with  smooth  countenance  and  unrulllcd  garments. 
Neither  will  such  a  man  be  disposed  t(;  imagine 
that  he  is  worse  off  than  others,  or  h<as  worse  people 
to  dial  with. 

And,  the   samo  thing  is  to    be  said   of  injustice 


INJUSTICE  133 

generally.  You  often  hear  a  man  making  the 
somewhat  simple  complaint,  that  he  only  wants 
justice.  Only  justice  !  why  justice  requires  time, 
insight  and  goodness :  and  you  demand  this  in 
each  case  of  the  many  hundreds  that  occur  to  you 
in  the  course  of  a  year  in  which  your  fellow  beings 
have  some  dealings  with  you.  No — justice  !  look 
not  for  it  till  you  are  in  a  state  of  being  for  which 
you  will  hardly  say  that  you  are  yet  quite  fit.  In 
truth,  the  consideration  of  what  a  world  of  mis- 
understanding, haste,  bhndness,  passion,  indolence 
and  private  interest  we  are  in  the  thick  of  (perhaps 
the  beauty  of  it  as  a  world  of  trial)  would  go  some 
little  way  to  cure  a  man  from  vexing  the  depths 
of  his  soul,  because  he  suffers  from  extortion, 
misrepresentation,  neglect,  or  injustice  of  any 
kind.  He  is  on  earth  :  and  men  are  unjust  to  hi  n. 
How  ludicrous  the  complaint ! 

Perhaps  the  -RTongs  we  endure  from  unjust 
reatment  would  be  easier  to  bear,  if  our  notions 
of  justice  were  modified  a  little.  For  my  part, 
instead  of  picturing  her,  sword  in  hand,  apparently 
engaged  in  blindly  weighing  out  small  groceries, 
a  figure  that  would  better  denote  the  goddess 
Fortune  as  it  seems  to  me,  I  imagine  Justice  travel- 
ling swiftly  round  about  the  earth,  diffusing  a  mild 
effluence  of  light  like  that  of  a  polar  night,  but 
followed  not  by  her  own  attendants,  but  by  the 
ungainly  shadows  of  all  evil  things,  en\'y  and  pre- 
judice, indolence  and  selfishness,  her  enemies  ; 
and  these  shadows  lay  themselves  down  before  her 
in  their  malice,  and  love  to  intercept  her  hght. 
The  aspect  of  a  good  man  scares  them  partially 
away,  and  then  her  light  lies  in  great  broad  spaces 
on  the  mead :  with  most  of  us,  it  is  chequered  like 
the  simshine  imder  trees  ;  and  there  are  poor  crea- 
tures in  whose  presence  all  the  evil  shadows  de- 
scend, lea%ang  but  a  streak  of  light  here  and  a  spot 


134  MEAN  MISFORTUNES 

there,  where  the  hideous  shadows  do  not  quite  fit 
in  together.  Happily,  however,  all  these  shadows 
are  mortal,  and  as  they  die  away,  dark  miserable 
places  come  into  Ught  and  life  again,  and  truth 
returns  to  them  as  her  abode  for  ever. 

Descending  from  these  flights  about  justice  to 
the  more  prosaic  parts  of  the  subject,  I  may  notice, 
that  mean  misfortunes  are  often  the  most  difficult 
to  bear.  There  is  no  instrument  of  philosophy 
small  enough  to  take  them  up  and  deal  with  them. 
A  long  career  of  small  anxieties  is  also  very  hard  to 
bear. 

One  thing  which  often  maintains  these  vexa- 
tions in  full  force,  is  the  shame  of  owning  to  our 
want  of  wisdom  in  the  first  instance.  A  man 
pla\ing  in  imagination  his  part  in  life,  always, 
like  the  story  books,  makes  his  hero  successful  in 
the  end  :  and,  therefore,  in  real  life,  he  is  immensely 
disturbed  and  humiliated  at  finding  that  such  is 
the  de\nhy  of  circumstances,  that  if  he  only  gives 
a  little  inlet  to  mischance  by  folly  or  incautious- 
ness  of  any  kind,  he  is  sometimes  invaded  by  a 
flood  of  evil. 

He  bears  this  in  secret,  struggling  with  all  his 
might  and  eating  his  own  heart,  as  it  were,  rather 
than  own  to  the  folly  he  committed  at  first.  Nothing 
less  will  satisfy  him  than  to  retrieve  the  whole 
misfortune,  and  cancel  by  success  his  first  error. 
Thus  we  come  to  one  more  instance  of  the  truth 
that  Pride  applies  the  scourge  more  frequently 
and  with  far  heavier  hand  than  Penitence  ;  with 
the  hand,  in  fact,  of  another. 

As  regards  the  '  career  of  small  anxieties ', 
which  I  s[)f»ke  of  above,  one  great  art  of  managing 
with  them,  is  to  cease  thinking  about  them  just 
at  that  point  where  thought  becomes  morbid.  It 
will   not  do  to  say  that  such  anxieties   may  not 


AND  ANXIETIES  135 

demand  some  thought,  and,  occasionally,  much 
thought.  But  there  comes  a  time  when  thought 
is  wasted  upon  these  anxieties  ;  when  you  find 
yourself  in  your  thoughts,  going  over  the  same 
gi'ound  again  and  again  to  no  purpose,  deepening 
annoyance  instead  of  enlarging  insight  and  pro- 
\-iding  remedy.  Then  the  thing  would  be  to  be 
able  to  speak  to  these  fretting  little  cares,  like 
Lord  Burleigh  to  his  gown  of  state,  when  he  took 
it  off  for  the  night,  '  Lie  there.  Lord  Treasurer  '. 

It  must  be  remembered  though  that  his  cares, 
assured  as  he  was  of  his  mistress's  favour,  were 
for  the  most  part  mere  business  cares,  and  did  not 
exactly  correspond  with  the  small  anxieties  which 
I  was  speaking  of.  These  are  very  hard,  I  suspect, 
to  dismiss.  Perhaps  the  best  way  of  getting  rid 
of  them  is  not  to  attempt  too  much  at  once,  but 
at  least  to  change  the  cares,  so  as  not  to  let  one  set 
prey  upon  the  mind  and  make  it  become  morbid — 
just  as  Newton,  unable  to  go  abruptly  from  his 
high,  absorbing  thoughts  to  what  most  men  would 
consider  recreation,  merely  adopted  a  change  of 
study,  and  found  his  relief  therein. 

There  is  often  a  very  keen  annoyance  suffered 
by  sensitive  and  high-minded  people,  arising  from 
dissatisfaction  with  their  own  work.  I  should  be 
very  sorry  to  say  anything  that  would  seem  like 
encouragement  to  slight  or  unconscientious  work- 
ing, but  to  the  anxious,  truth-seeking,  high-minded, 
fastidious  man,  I  would  sometimes  venture  to  say, 
'  My  good  friend,  if  we  could  work  out  our  ideal, 
we  should  be  angels.  There  is  eternity  to  do  it  in. 
But  now  come  do\vn  from  your  pedestal,  and  do 
not  overfrct  yourself,  because  your  hand,  or  your 
mind,  or  your  soul,  will  not  fulfil  all  that  you 
would  have  it.  There  have  been  men  before  you, 
and  probably  A\ill  come  others  after  you,  whose 
deeds,  however  much  approved  by  the  general 
voice,  seemed,  or  will  seem,  to  the  men  themselves 


136  REGRETS 

little   better   than    a   caricature    of    their   aspira- 
tions '. 

How  much,  by  the  way,  accomplishments  of 
various  kinds  would  come  in  to  help  men  to  get 
rid  of  over-riding  small  cares  and  petty  anxieties. 
These  accomplishments  mostly  appeal  to  another 
world  of  thought  and  feeling  than  that  in  which 
the  little  troubles  were  bred.  The  studious,  the 
busy  and  the  sorrowful  might  find  in  art  a  change 
of  thought  wliich  nothing  else,  at  least  of  worldly 
things,  could  give  them.  And  the  accomplish- 
ments I  mean  would  be  of  use  on  occasions 
when  there  is  no  need,  and  where  it  is  scarcely 
fitting,  to  summon  forth  the  solenm  aid  of  religion 
or  philosophy.  Not  that  I  would  have  such  aid 
far  distant  from  any  mind,  or  on  any  occasion  : 
for  there  is  a  comfort  and  a  sobriety  of  mind  to  be 
gained  from  the  great  topics  of  consolation  which 
nothing  else  can  surely  give. 

In  considering  various  forms  of  iinhai)])iness, 
which  has  been  the  business  of  this  cliaj)ter.  for  the 
purpose  of  providing  some  small  aids  and  consola- 
tions, one  form  has  occurred  to  me  which  is  not 
uncommon,   I  imagine. 

It  is  where  an  almost  infinite  regret  enters  the 
mind  ."..t  some  happiness  having  been  missed  which 
in  imagination  seems  the  one,  ])ossil)le,  present 
good  to  the  person  indulging  the  imagination: 
and  the  men  or  women  in  this  sad  case  go  on  all 
their  days  mourning  or  fretting  for  want  of  that 
imagined  felicity.  This  must  oftt-n  occur  in  the 
midst  of  great  seeming  |)roH])erity  wliirli  decfx-ns 
tlie  vexation,  and  gives  an  air  of  especial  mockery 
to  it. 

To  find  consolation  for  this  state  of  mind  may 
not  !)(•  easy  ;  still  there  are  medicaments  even  for 
it.  Imagine  the  happiness  in  question  gained, 
fond  dreamer  ;  do  you  not  already  see  some  diminu- 


ALL  SUFFERING,  EXPERIENCE       137 

tion  of  the  happiness  itseK — it  wiU  only  be  from 
lack  of  imagination  if  you  do  not — but  at  any  rate 
do  you  not  at  least  perceive  how  many  fears  such 
happiness  would  throw  you  open  to  ?  '  Ah,  Da\'y  ', 
said  Johnson  to  Garrick,  after  going  over  his  new 
house  and  looking  at  the  fine  things  there,  '  these 
are  the  things  that  make  a  deathbed  terrible  '. 

Every  felicity,  indeed,  as  well  as  wife  and  children, 
is  a  hostage  to  Fortune. 

Lastly,  there  is  to  be  said  of  all  suffering  that 
it  is  experience.  I  have  forgotten  in  whose  life 
it  is  to  be  found,  but  there  is  some  man  who  went 
out  of  his  way  to  pro\nde  liimself  ^\ith  every  form 
of  human  misery  which  he  could  get  at.  I  do  not, 
myself,  see  any  occasion  for  any  man's  going  out 
of  the  way  to  provide  misfortune  for  himself.  Like 
an  eminent  physician  he  might  stay  at  home, 
and  find  almost  every  form  of  human  misery 
knocking  at  his  door.  But  still  I  understand 
what  tliis  chivalrous  enquirer  meant,  who  sought 
to  taste  all  suffering  for  the  sake  of  the  experience 
it  would  give  him. 

There  is  this  admirable  commonplace,  too, 
which,  from  long  habit  of  being  introduced  in  such 
chscourses,  mshes  to  come  in  before  I  conclude  ; 
namety,  that  infelicities  of  various  kinds  belong 
to  the  state  here  below.  \Vlio  are  we  that  we 
should  not  take  our  share  ?  See  the  slight  amount 
of  personal  happiness  requisite  to  go  on  with.  In 
noisome  dungeons,  subject  to  studied  tortures,  in 
abject  and  sliifty  poverty,  after  consummate 
shame,  upon  tremendous  change  of  fortune,  in 
the  profoundest  desolation  of  mind  and  soul,  in 
forced  companionship  with  all  that  is  unlovely 
and  uncongenial,  men,  persevering  nobly,  live  on 
and  live  through  it  all.  The  mind,  like  water,  as 
described  in  that  beautiful  passage  in  Metastasio 
which  I  will  transcribe  below,  passes  through  all 


138       ALL  SUFFERING,  EXPERIENCE 

states,  till  it  shall  be  united  to  what  it  is  ever 
seeking.  The  very  loneliness  of  man  here  is  the 
greatest  proof,  to  my  mind,  of  a  God. 

L'onda  dal  mar  divisa 

Bagna  la  valle  e'l  monte  ; 

Va  passeggiera 

In  fiume, 

Va  prigioniera 

In  fonte, 

Mormora  sempre  e  geme, 

Fin  che  non  torna  al  mar; 

A\  mar  dov'  ella  nacque, 
Dove  acquisto  gli  umori, 
Dove  da'  lunglii  errori 

Spera  di  riposar. 

Such  were  my  thoughts  this  wet  day  which  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  was  to  be  a  dreary  day 
throughout,  but  I  had  hardly  come  to  the  end  of 
what  I  had  to  say,  when  (may  it  be  a  good  omen 
that  the  chapter  itself  may  bring  some  cheer  to 
some  one  in  distress),  the  sun  peeped  out,  the 
drops  of  rain  upon  the  leaves  glistened  in  the  sun- 
shine like  afflictions  beautified  by  heavenly  thoughts, 
and  all  nature  invited  me  out  to  enjoy  the  gladness 
of  her  aspect,  more  glad  by  contrast  with  lier  former 
friendly  gloom. 


CHAPTER  XI 

SUN   WORSHIP — THOUGHTS    ON    TKAVEL,    ITS   ADVAN- 
TAGES  AND    ENJOYMENTS 

The  sun  came  out  brilliantly  tliis  morning.  To 
be  sure,  there  was  a  chilliness  in  the  air  ;  but  if 
you  walked  about  with  vigour,  and  said  it  was  a 
charming  morning,  it  gradually  became  so.  An 
eccentric  friend  of  mine,  of  the  Johnsonian  school,, 
maintains  that  all  kinds  of  weather  may  be  treated 
in  a  similar  manner,  and  says  that  if  a  man  wiU 
go  out  in  the  rain  without  any  defence  and  pretend 
to  know  nothing  about  the  showers,  the  rain  will 
cease  for  him,  each  drop  exclaiming  '  It  is  no  use 
raining  upon  that  man,  he  does  not  mind  it '. 
"Wliether  my  friend  has  a  moral  meaning  to  this 
fable  of  his,  I  do  not  know  ;  and,  indeed,  it  is 
difficult  to  sound  the  depths  of  some  men's  humour, 
the  deepest  part  of  their  nature. 

As  I  walked  up  and  doAni  under  the  shelter  of 
a  wall,  so  that  I  might  have  the  full  benefit  of  the 
sun's  rays,  I  could  not  help  thinking,  that  the  sun 
had  been  very  little  worshipped  by  idolaters.  In 
fact,  he  is  too  manifest  a  benefactor  to  be  much 
idolized.  Moreover,  what  the  natural  man  likes 
to  worship,  is  some  ugly  little  idol,  an  incarnation 
of  one  or  other  of  his  own  bad  passions.  I  suppose 
the  real  explanation  is,  that  the  form  of  the  sun 
being  a  simple  one,  essentially  belonging  to  the 
inanimate  world,   provoked  no  desire  to  worship,. 


140  SUN  WORSHIP 

and  left  no  room  for  sufficient  mystery.  So,  after 
all,  it  is  perhaps  a  proof  of  the  craving  imagination 
of  mankind  that  the  sun  has  had,  comparatively 
speaking,  but  few  A\orshippers,  while  an  ungainly 
stone,  or  a  thing  with  many  hands  and  legs,  has 
enjoyed  the  tenderest  adoration. 

Then  I  thought  if  our  senses  were  finer,  what 
an  exquisite  sight  it  would  be,  to  behold  all  the 
inanimate  world  turning  gently  to  the  sun  each 
day,  a  fact  which  we  only  perceive  in  the  results 
of  such  fond  looks  for  many  years,  as  exhibited 
in  the  growth  of  trees  :  whereas,  if  our  senses  were 
more  delicately  apprcliensivc,  we  might  see  every 
leaf,  bud  and  twig  making  its  little  way  towards 
the  liglit,  and  all  nature,  like  one  sun-flower,  bend- 
ing sligiitly  forwards  in  a  supplicating  attitude  to 
the  sun. 

Waiming  v/ith  the  subject  I  exclaimed,  this  is 
quite  an  Italian  sky — rather  home-made  was  the 
disparaging  second  thought.  In  such  a  mood  it 
was  very  natural  to  think  of  foreign  travel.  I 
looked  at  the  fig-trees  against  the  wall,  and  felt 
that  they  must  be  rather  disgusted  at  the  climate 
which  needed  such  a  position  for  them.  However, 
said  I,  it  is  only  what  the  greatest  men  have  had 
to  endure,  to  live  in  an  uncongenial  clime  and  to 
bring  forth  fruit  with  painful  culture  and  under 
most  adverse  circumstances  ;  so  you  must  not 
complain,  though  you  are  nailed  up  against  the 
wall.  On  went  my  mind  to  a  particular  fig-tree 
near  Cordova,  from  thence  down  t\w  CJuadal- 
quiver  ;  when  1  saw  again  the  beautiful  birds 
come  out  of  the  sandy  banks  of  the  river  ;  and,  in 
truth,  I  was  in  a  full  career  of  travel,  when  it 
oceurn-d  to  me  that  I  had  often  tliought  many 
things  about  travelling,  and  that  it  might  be  useful 
to  j)nt  tlu-m  together.  So.  walking  up  and  down, 
like  a  perij)atctic  pliilosoj>her,  only  with  no  dis- 
ciples, (which,  by  the  way,  is  a  safer  thing  for  the 


TRAVEL  141 

discovery   of   truth)    I    put   into   some   order   the 
following  remarks  on  travel. 

A  journey  has  often  been  compared  to  a  life.  I 
suppose  that  in  any  comparison  so  frequently  used 
there  must  be  some  aptitude ;  but  it  does  not 
strike  me.  Any  one  day  is  like  a  life,  is  indeed 
an  epitome  of  it :  morning,  noon,  evening,  awaking 
and  going  to  sleep  have  all  the  closest  analogy 
with  the  progress  of  a  life.  But  a  journey  is  often 
very  dissimilar  to  a  life.  In  travelHng,  for  in- 
stance, for  pleasure,  you  go  out  with  much  hope 
of  delight :  the  delight  is  partly  reahzed ;  but 
there  is  much  that  is  untoward  and  which  at  the 
time  prevents  a  thorough  enjoyment  and  apprecia- 
tion of  what  you  do  see.  You  return  with  joy, 
and  the  journey  is  afterwards  stored  up  in  the 
memory  as  a  complete  pleasure,  all  the  mishaps 
being  put  into,  what  the  Dutch  call,  '  the  forget 
book ',  or  only  remembered  as  interesting  inci- 
dents. Clearly,  one  of  the  main  delights  is  in  the 
recollection.  Now  we  cannot  venture  to  say 
whether  that  will  be  the  case  with  the  journey  of 
life.     There  does  not  appear  much  promise  of  that. 

I  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  garden  and 
thought  over  that  last  suggestion  which  is  a  very 
serious  one.  Soon,  however,  I  returned  to  the 
subject  of  travelling. 

Yes,  I  said  to  myself,  certp.inly,  there  is  great 
pleasure  in  coming  back  after  a  tour  (which,  by 
the  way,  may  be  another  great  difference  between 
these  journej's  and  the  journey  of  life)  at  least  I 
know  I  am  always  glad  to  come  back  to  that  great 
silent,  unexpectorating  people  to  whom  I  belong, 
upon  whose  dominions  the  sun  never  sets,  who 
are  very  powerful  and  somewhat  dull,  free  as  far 
as  constitutions  and  forms  of  government  go, 
but  as  sla\'ish  as  any  other  nation  to  the  great 
tyrants,    custom    and    public    opinion ;     a    people 


142  TRAVEL 

indeed  who  do  not  enjoy  any  exuberant  felicity, 
but  who  have  humour  enough  to  see  their  faults 
and  shortcomings,  wliich  is  some  alleviation. 

But  to  descend  more  to  particulars  about  travel- 
ling. The  first  thing  is  in  the  preparation  for  it, 
the  mental  preparation,  I  mean.  In  this  prepara- 
tion hes  some  of  the  greatest  utiUty  and  of  the 
greatest  pleasui'e  connected  with  travelling.  And 
Avithout  this  preparation  what  a  small  thing  travel 
would  be.  \Miat  is  it  to  see  some  tomb,  when  the 
name  of  the  inmate  is  merely  a  pompous  soimd — 
the  name  of  an  unknown  king,  duke,  or  emperor 
— compared  with  what  it  is  to  see  the  tomb  of  one 
whose  fortunes  you  have  studied,  who  is  a  favourite 
with  you,  who  represents  yourself  or  what  you 
would  be,  whose  very  name  makes  your  blood  stir  ? 
The  same  thing  of  course  apphes  in  travel  to  know- 
ledge of  the  arts,  sciences  and  manufactures. 
Knowledge  is  the  best  excitement  and  the  truest 
reward  for  travel — at  once  the  means  and  the  end. 
A  dignified  and  intelligent  curiosity,  how  much  it 
differs  from  mere,  inane  lion-hunting  ;  where  the 
ignorant  traveller  gapes  at  wonders  wliich  the 
guides  kno\\-  far  more  about  than  he  does. 

With  regard  to  the  mode  of  travelling,  it  is 
curious  to  compare  the  ancient  \vith  the  modern  ; 
the  free  yet  .'Stately  way  of  the  former,  the  method- 
ized yet  unditrnided  way  of  the  latter.  Imagine  a 
traveller  in  former  days  setting  olT  from  the  ances- 
tral mansion  leisurely,  on  horseback.  Within  ten 
miles  there  might  bo  an  adventure  ;  and  through- 
out the  journey,  whieli  liad  not  Ix-en  much  cleared 
up  by  the  accounts  of  former  travellers,  there  must 
have  been  a  constant  feeling  of  doubt  as  to  what 
was  to  happen  next,  and  a  conficrjuent  excitement 
a  little  like  the  feeling  of  a  great  diseoverer  in  un- 
known lands  seeking  after  the  kingdom  of  Prester 
.(uliii,  the  Kl  Dorado,  or  the  Fountain  of  perfK'tual 


TRAVEL  143 

youth  ;  and  not  being  certain  any  day  that  he 
might  not  come  upon  one  of  these  wonders. 

I  think  it  is  possible  to  combine,  occasionally, 
the  advantages  of  modern  and  ancient  travelUng, 
especially  for  the  vigoroiis  and  healthy. 

In  the  plans  and  modes  of  travelhng,  the  question 
of  companionship  comes  first.  And  by  the  way, 
what  a  hint  it  might  give  many  a  young  man  of  the 
difficulties  to  be  conquered  in  domestic  companion- 
ship, when  he  finds  how  hard  it  is  to  agree  with 
his  fellows  in  travel  for  a  few  short  weeks.  All  the 
difficulties  attendant  upon  companionship  occur 
in  this  case  of  travelling.  Indeed,  the  first  ques- 
tion is,  whether  you  should  journey  alone,  solitary 
and  unmolested ;  or  vrith.  one  other,  when  the 
Trant  of  profound  sympathy  and  the  wish  to  quarrel 
will  be  very  painful ;  or  ^^ith  two  or  three,  when 
the  quarrelling  can  better  break  out  and  the  com- 
panions separate  into  factions.  The  advantages 
and  disadvantages  are  so  nearly  equivalent,  that 
the  traveller  ■nill  probably  condemn  and  regret 
"whichever  course  he  takes,  and  therefore  may  take 
any  one  without  much  concern.  To  the  very  serious 
reader  I  may  mention  that  the  above  description 
is  not  given  quite  in  earnest,  but  it  points  to  what 
are  some  of  the  prominent  dangers  of  companion- 
ship. Really  it  is  disgraceful  that  men  are  so  ill- 
taught  and  unprepared  for  social  life  as  they  are, 
often  turning  their  best  energies,  their  acquisitions 
and  their  special  advantages  into  means  of  annoy- 
ance to  those  ^vith  Avhom  they  five.  Some  day  it 
will  be  found  out,  that  to  bring  up  a  man  with  a 
genial  nature,  a  good  temper,  and  a  happy  form 
of  mind,  is  a  greater  eflort  than  to  perfect  him 
in  miich  knowledge  and  many  accomplishments. 
Then  we  might  have  that  tolerance  of  other  people's 
pursuits,  that  absence  of  disputatiousness,  and  that 
freedom  from  small  fussiness,  which  would  render 
a    companion    a    certain    gain.     It    will    not    be 


144  TRAVEL 

desirable,  however,  to  wait  till  that  period  before 
^\e  begin  our  travels. 

The  ndy^gptagea  of  travel  are  very  various  and 
very  numerous.  I  have  already  put  the  know- 
ledge to  be  gained  as  one  of  them.  But  this  is 
for  the  young  and  the  unworn.  A  fargreater 
advantage  is  in  the  repose  of  mind  wEcEtravel- 
ling  often  gives,  where  nothing  else  could.  It 
seems  rather  hard  though,  that  all  our  boasted 
philosophy  cannot  do  what  a  little  change  of  place 
so  easily  effects.  It  is  by  no  magical  property, 
however,  that  travelling  does  this.  It  is  merely 
that  by  this  change  things  assume  their  right  pro- 
portions. The  nightmares  of  care  and  trouble 
cease  to  weigh  as  if  they  were  the  only  things  of 
weight  in  the  world. 

I  know  one  who  finds  somewhat  of  tlio_aaDie 
advantage  in  looking  at  the  stars.  Jlr  sayg,.  it 
suggests  a  ■welcome  cliange  of  count^3^  I  ndicd, 
he  maintains  that  the  aspect  of  these  glorious 
worlds  might  somewhat  comfort  a  man  even  under 
remorse. 

Again,  a  man's  own  land  is  a  serious  place  to 
him,  or  at  least  has  a  possible  seriousno.ss  about 
it,  which  is  like  a  cloud  that  may  at  any  moment 
come  over  the  s])ot  ho  is  occu])ying. 

There  he  has  known  the  sweetness  and  the  bitter- 
ness of  early  loves,  early  friendships.  There,  may- 
hap, li(!  has  HufTercd  f)ne  of  those  vast  bereave- 
ments which  was  like  a  tearing  away  of  a  part  of 
his  own  soul  :  when  he  thought  each  noise  in  the 
lif)us(%  hearing  noises  that  he  never  heard  before, 
must  be  something  they  were  doing  in  the  room — 
the  room — when;  lay  all  tliat  was  mortal  of  some 
one  inex])ressilily  dear  to  him  :  when  ho  awoke 
morning  after  morning  to  struggle  with  a  grief 
which  Hcemed  ivs  ne    ,   as  appalling,   and  as  large 


TRAVEL  145 

as  on  the  first  dcay ;  which,  indeed,  being  part  of 
himself  and  thus  partaking  of  his  renovated  powers, 
rose  equipped  with  what  rest,  or  alacrity,  sleep 
had  given  him ;  and  sank,  unconquered,  only 
when  he  was  too  wearied  in  body  and  mind  to 
attend  to  it,  or  to  anything. 

The  places  where  he  has  felt  such  sorrows  may 
be  the  dearest  in  the  world  to  him,  may  be  sure  to 
win  him  back  to  them  ;  but  they  cannot  always  be 
regarded  in  that  easy,  disengaged  way  which  is 
necessary  for  perfect  recreation. 

This,  then,  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  travel, 
that  we  come  upon  new  ground,  wluch  we  tread 
lightly,  which  is  free  from  associations  that  claim 
too  deep  and  constant  an  interest  from  us  ;  and, 
not  resting  long  in  any  one  place,  but  travelling 
onwards,  we  maintain  that  desirable  lightness  of 
mind :  we  are  spectators,  having  for  the  time  no 
duties,  no  ties,  no  associations,  no  responsibihties  ; 
nothing  to  do  but  to  look  on,  and  look  fairly. 

Another  of  the  great  advantages  of  travel  lies 
in  what  you  learn  from  your  companions  :  not 
merely  from  those  you  set  out  with,  or  so  much 
from  them,  as  from  those  whom  you  are  thrown 
together  with  on  the  journey.  I  reckon  this  ad- 
vantage to  be  so  great,  that  I  should  be  incHned 
to  say,  that  you  often  get  more  from  your  com- 
panions in  travel  than  from  all  you  come  to  see. 

People  imagine  they  are  not  known,  and  that 
they  shall  never  meet  again  with  the  same  company 
(which  is  very  likely  so)  ;  they  are  free  for  the 
time  from  the  trammels  of  their  business,  profess- 
sion,  or  calling ;  the  marks  of  the  harness  begin  to 
wear  out ;  and  altogether  they  talk  more  like  men 
than  slaves  with  their  several  functions  hanging 
like  collars  round  their  necks.  An  ordinary  man 
on  travel  will  sometimes  talk  like  a  great  imagina- 
tive man  at  home,  for  such  are  never  utterly 
enslaved  by  their  functions. 


146  TRAVEL 

Then  the  diversities  of  chanu^ter  you  meet  Avith 
instruct  and  delight  you.  The  variety  in  language, 
dress,  behaviour,  religious  ceremonies,  mode  of 
life,  amusements,  arts,  climate,  government,  lays 
hold  of  your  attention  and  takes  you  out  of  the 
wheel -tracks  of  yom*  everyday  cares.  He  must, 
indeed,  be  either  an  angel  of  constancy  and  perse- 
verance, or  a  wonderfully  obtuse  CaUban  of  a  man, 
who,  amidst  all  this  change,  can  maintain  his 
private  griefs  or  vexations  exactly  in  the  same 
place  they  held  in  his  heart  while  he  was  packing 
for  his  journey. 

The  change  of  language  is  alone  a  great  delight. 
You  pass  along,  living  only  with  gentlemen  and 
scholars,  for  you  rarely  detect  what  is  vulgar,  or 
inept,  in  the  talk  around  you.  Childi-en's  talk  in 
another  language  is  not  childish  to  you  ;  and,  in- 
deed, everytliing  is  literature,  from  the  announce- 
ment at  a  railway  station  to  the  advertisements 
in  a  newspaper.  Read  the  Bible  in  another  tongue  ; 
and  you  will  perhaps  find  a  beauty  in  it  you  have 
not  thorouglily  appreciated  for  years  before. 

As  regards  the  enjoy ment-s  of  travel,  I  should 
be  sorry  to  say  anything  pedantic  about  them. 
They  must  vary  so  much  according  to  the  nature 
of  the  individual.  In  my  view,  they  are  to  be 
found  in  the  chance  delights,  rather  than  in  the 
oOiciiil  part,  of  travelling.  I  go  through  a  j)icture- 
gallery,  enjoying  witli  instructed  and  woil-rcgu- 
lated  satisfaction  all  the  things  I  ought  to  enjoy. 
Down  in  tlie  recesses  of  my  mind,  not  communi- 
cated pcrhajm  to  any  ot  my  coni|>;iiii()ns,  is  a  secret 
hope  that  the  room  I  see  in  the  distance  is  really 
the  Ijist  in  tlie  l)iiildintr,  and  tluit  I  siiail  have  to 
go  tlirougli  no  nutre.  It  is  a  warm  day,  and,  step- 
jting  out  ujK)n  a  balcony  for  a  moincnl.  I  see  a 
young  girl  carefully  helping  h(!r  inlinn  mother  out 
of  church  and  playfully  insisting  on  carrying  the 


TRAVEL  147 

market  burdens  of  both,  far  too  hea\y  for  her  little 
self.  I  watch  the  pair  to  the  corner  of  the  street, 
and  then  turn  back  to  see  the  pictures  which  must 
be  seen.  But  the  pictures  will  fade  from  my 
memory  sooner  than  this  Uttle  scene  which  I  saw 
from  the  balcony.  I  have  put  that  bj^  for  my 
private  gallery.  Doubtless,  we  need  not  leave  our 
o^Ti  country'  to  see  much  that  is  most  beautiful  in 
nature  and  in  conduct ;  but  we  are  often  far 
too  much  engaged  and  too  unobservant,  to  see 
it. 

Then  there  is  the  new  cUmate.  How  exquisite 
the  mere  sensation  of  warmth  is  to  many  persons  ! 
Then  there  is  the  stroll  in  the  market-place,  or  the 
sight  of  the  harbour,  or  the  procession,  or  the 
guard-house — in  short,  the  aspect  of  all  those 
ordinary,  but,  in  a  strange  country,  unfamiliar 
things  which,  happih',  no  handbook  need  dilate 
upon,  or  even  point  out,  but  which  men  are  per- 
verse enough  to  like  all  the  better  for  that. 

The  benefits  which  arise  from  making  the  in- 
habitants of  different  nations  acquainted  with 
one  another  may  be  considerable.  How  many 
things  there  are  to  be  learnt  on  both  sides  :  and 
how  slow  men  are  in  copjdng  the  good  from  each 
other.  An  evil  custom  or  a  dubious  one,  or  a  dis- 
ease, menta,l,  mora,],  or  physical,  how  rapidly  it 
spreads  over  the  earth  !  E\41  is  Avinged.  How 
slowly  any  contrivance  for  cleanliness,  or  decorum, 
or  good  order,  makes  its  ^^•ay.  If  it  were  not  that 
good  by  its  natm-e  is  enduring,  and  e^nl  by  its  nature 
transitory,  there  would  he  but  little  chance  for  the 
welfare  of  the  world. 

In  contemplating  different  nations,  the  traveller 
learns  that  their  differences  are  very  gi'eat,  and  yet 
how  small  when  compared  with  their  resemblances* 
That  intensity  of  dislike  which  arises  at  these  small 
differences,  and  which  even  the  most  philosophical 


148  TRAVEL 

minds  are  apt  at  times  to  feel,  is  a  great  proof  of 
the  tyrannous  nature  of  the  human  heart,  which 
would  have  every  other  creature  cut  out  exactly 
after  its  o\^"n  pattern. 

One  of  the  things  to  be  most  noted  by  an  English- 
man in  travelling,  is  the  remarkable  difference,  as 
it  seems  to  me,  between  our  own  and  other  nations 
in  tlie  amusements  of  the  people.  We  are  the 
people  who  have  sent  out  our  efforts  to  the  utter- 
most parts  of  the  Earth,  and  yet  a  great  deal  of 
our  own  life  at  home  is  very  barren  and  unculti- 
vated. When  I  have  been  watching  the  game- 
someness  of  other  people,  it  has  often  saddened 
me  to  think  of  the  poverty  of  resources  in  my  own 
country  in  that  way.  Shows  alone  ^\-ill  not  do. 
Pictures  are  good  in  their  way,  but  what  is  wanted 
is  something  in  which  people  themselves  are  en- 
gaged. Indeed  more  persons  are  amused,  and 
rightly  so,  in  })Iaying  at  bowls  than  in  looking  at 
Raphaels,  Murillos  or  Titians.  Those  who  are  most 
amused,  if  one  may  use  such  a  word,  in  contem- 
plating these  great  works,  are  those  in  whom  the 
wijrks  produce  a  secret  fi>oIing  of  power  to  create 
the  like — I  do  not  say,  like  pictures  or  even  like 
works  of  art,  but  something  great,  if  only  great 
destruction — in  fact,  where  the  works  elicit  the 
sympathy  of  kindred  genius.  But  for  the  amuse- 
ments of  the  jK'ople,  something  on  a  verj''  broad 
and  L'eneral  b;isis  must  be  sought  for. 

Returning,  however,  to  the  special  subject  of 
travelling,  which  I  am  now  considering,  it  is  worth 
notice  that  there  is  no  occasion  for  being  t-xces- 
sively  emulous,  or  haste-bitten,  in  travelling  any 
nH)re  than  in  other  occupations  of  life.  I^t  no 
truly  olwervant  man  feel  the  least  envious,  or 
discjncerted,  when  he  hears  others  talk  familiarly 
of  cities  which  arc  dreamland  to  him,  the  names 
of  which  are  {XK-try  in  his  mind.  Many  of  these 
men  never  have  seen,  and  nevci  can  see  any  thing, 


TRAVEL  149 

as  lie  can  see  it.  The  wise  do  not  hurry  without 
good  reason.  A  judicious  traveller  tells  me  that 
he  once  went  to  see  one  of  the  greatest  wonders  of 
the  world.  He  gazed  and  gazed,  each  minute 
saw  more,  and  might  have  gone  on  seeing  into  the 
thing  for  weeks,  he  said.  Two  regular  tourists 
walked  in,  glanced  about  them,  and  almost  before 
he  could  look  round,  they  were  gone.  They  ^vill 
say,  they  saw  what  there  was  to  be  seen.  Poor 
fellows  !  Other  men  might  have  instructed  them  : 
now  they  will  have  their  own  misconceptions, 
arising  from  hasty  impressions,  to  contend  with. 

I  must  say,  though,  that  anything  is  better  than 
insincerity  in  the  way  of  admiration.  If  we  do 
not  care  about  what  we  see,  let  us  not  pretend  to 
do  so.  We  do  not  come  out  to  tell  lies,  but  rather 
to  get  away  from  falsehood  of  all  kinds. 

There  is  also  an  observation  to  be  made  with 
respect  to  the  enjo^Tnent  of  the  beauties  of  natural 
scenery,  which  applies  not  only  to  travelhng,  but 
is  of  very  general  application  ;  namely,  that  we 
should  enjoy  and  make  much  of  that  which  comes 
in  our  way  on  everj^day  occasions.  Wliile  it  may 
be  well  worth  the  while  of  the  lover  of  nature  to 
be  ciu-ious  in  looking  after  rocks,  rivers,  mountains, 
and  waterfalls,  yet  the  obvious,  everyday  beautiea 
of  natm-e  are  not  to  be  disregarded.  Perhaps  the 
short  hasty  gazes  cast  up  any  day  in  the  midst  of 
business  in  a  dense  city  at  the  heavens,  or  at  a  bit 
of  a  tree  seen  amid  buildings — gazes  which  partake 
almost  more  of  a  sigh  than  a  look,  have  in  them 
more  of  intense  appreciation  of  the  beauties  of 
nature  than  all  that  has  been  felt  by  an  equal 
number  of  sight-seers,  enjoying  large  opportunity 
of  seeing,  and  all  their  time  to  themselves.  Like 
a  praj^er  offered  up  in  the  midst  of  everyday  life, 
these  short,  fond  gazes  at  nature  have  something 
inconceivably    soothing    and    beautiful    in    them. 


160  TRAVEL 

There  is  a  remark  by  an  exquisite  observer  and 
very  subtle,  often  very  profound,  thinker,  which 
indeed  suggested  the  above  thoughts,  though  we 
liave  each  turned  the  thing  a  different  way,  he 
looking  at  a  certain  unreality  in  nature,  and  I 
considering  the  combination  of  the  upturned  look 
to  nature  with  the  ordinary,  earthly  life  of  man. 
'  But  this  beauty  of  nature  ',  he  says,  '  which  is 
seen  and  felt  as  beauty,  is  the  least  part.  The 
shows  of  the  day,  the  dewy  morning,  the  rainbow, 
mountains,  orchards  in  blossom,  stars,  moonlight, 
shadows  in  still  water,  and  the  like,  if  too  eagerly 
hunted,  become  shows  merely,  and  mock  us  -with 
their  unreality.  Go  out  of  the  house  to  see  the 
moon,  and  'tis  mere  tinsel,  it  will  not  p]c;ise  as 
when  its  light  shines  upon  your  necessary  journey  '.' 
There  is  tliis,  too.  to  be  said,  that  this  habitual 
appreciation  of  nature  on  everj'day  occasions  may 
prevent  your  missing  the  very  highest  beauties  ; 
for  what  you  go  to  see  as  a  sight,  may  never  be 
shown  to  you  under  most  favourable  circum- 
stances ;  wherciis  a  much  inferior  scene  may  be 
combined  with  such  accidental  circumstances  of 
beauty  as  in  reality  to  be  the  finest  thing  you  \vill 
ever  have  an  opportunity  of  beholding.  We  must 
not  be  altogether  captivated  by  great  names : 
the  sincere,  clear-sighted  man  is  not ;  and  has  his 
reward  for  his  independence  of  mind,  in  seeing 
many  beauties  in  man  and  nature,  which  escape 
the  perception  of  those  who  see  by  l)ook  alone. 

Before  cpiitting  the  subject  of  travelling,  I  cannot 
help  making  a  remark  which  has  often  occurred 
to  me,  but  which,  however,  has  regard,  not  so  much 
to  the  travr-liers,  iis  to  those  they  travel  amongst. 
It  concerns  all  those  who  preside  over  ( oach-offices, 
diligence  -  offices,   post-ofTices,  and  custom  -  housea. 

'  Emerson.     Nature  :  Chapter  on  Beauty  of. 


TRAVEL  15i 

What  a  fine  opportunit}'  such  people  have,  it 
seems  to  me,  to  manifest  a  Christian  temper.  It 
is  tiresome  to  you,  O  postmaster,  to  be  asked 
all  manner  of  questions,  of  which  you  cannot  s?e 
the  drift,  or  wliich  you  think  you  have  answered 
in  your  first  reply ;  but  the  poor  enquirer 
is  far  from  home ;  he  has  but  a  dim  under- 
standing of  your  language,  still  dimmer  of  your 
customs  ;  his  little  daughter  is  ill  at  home,  per- 
haps ;  he  wants  to  be  assured  by  hearing  again 
what  you  said,  even  if  he  thought  he  understood 
the  meaning  at  first :  and  you  should  be  good- 
natured  and  voluminous  in  your  rephes.  Besides, 
you  must  bethink  yourself,  that  what  is  so  simple 
to  you  as  youi'  daily  transactions,  may  neverthe- 
less be  somewhat  comphcated,  and  hard  to  under- 
stand, especially  to  a  foreign  mind.  You  might, 
I  think,  carry  in  your  mind  an  imaginary  affiche, 
wliich  you  should  see  before  you  on  the  wall  which 
fronts  you  as  you  address  your  applicants. 


ADVICE   TO    MEN   IN   SIVIALL   AUTHORITY 

'It  is  a  great  privilege  to  have  an  opportunity 
many  times  in  a  day  in  the  course  of  your  business 
to  do  a  real  kindness  which  is  not  to  be  paid  for. 
Gra.ciousness  of  demeanour  is  a  large  part  of  the 
duty  of  any  official  person  who  comes  in  contact 
■nith  the  world.  Where  a  man's  business  is, 
there  is  the  ground  for  his  rehgion  to  manifest 
itself '. 

And  we  travellers,  on  our  parts,  if  only  from 
an  anxiety  to  give  other  nations  a  good  opinion 
of  ours,  should  beware  of  showing  insolence,  or 
impertinence,  to  those  who  give  us  welcome.  The 
relation  of  host  and  guest  should  never  be  quite 
effaced  from  the  mind  of  either  party. 


CHAPTER  XII 

GOVERNMENT — THE     CHURCH   OF   ENGLAND — A   CON- 
VERSATION ON  SOME  ASPECTS^OF  ^THE  TIMES 

I  WANDERED  about  amongst  the  young  trees  tliis 
morning,  looking  at  their  different  shades  of  green, 
and  I  thought  if  they,  drinking  from  the  same  soil 
and  the  same  air,  and  standing  stiU  in  the  same 
spot,  showed  such  infinite  varieties,  what  might  be 
expected  from  men.  Then  I  thought  of  the  anec- 
dote of  Charles  V  in  retirement,  endeavouring  in 
vain  to  make  his  watches  keep  time  together,  and 
the  inference  he  drew  therefrom,  of  the  difficulty 
of  making  men  think  alike  upon  rehgious  matters. 
Ah,  when  it  once  comes  to  thinking,  good-bye  to 
anvthing  like  strict  agreement  amongst  men. 

But  always  amongst  my  thoughts  to-daj^  came 
that  of  the  death  of  Sir  Rnlicrt  Peel,  which  I  heard 
of  last  night.  ??ad  1  s  id  :  such  a  sorrj'  deatli  for 
so  great  a  man — and,  ;i.s  \\c  men  should  say,  so 
inopportune.  I  had  hoped,  as  I  have  no  doubt 
many  others  who  take  an  interest  in  pubhc  affairs 
had  done,  that  he  would  have  remained  as  a  great 
power  aloof  from  party,  a  weight  of  private  opinion, 
if  we  may  say  so,  which  should  come  in  at  the  most 
important  times,  to  declare  what  is  thought  by  the 
impartial  bystander,  who,  I  should  say,  (varying 
the  common  proverb)  does  not  see  most  of  the 
game,  but  sees  things  which  the  players  do  not  see. 
Then    I    thought   of   his    ways,    which   had   often 

153 


154  GOVERNMENT 

amused  me,  and  which  I  had  learned  to  like  ;  of 
his  exquisite  adroitness  ;  of  the  dignity  of  the 
man  ;  of  the  humanity,  and  of  what  always  struck 
me  so  forcibl}^ — of  his  amenability  to  good  reason- 
ing, from  whatever  quarter  it  came. 

Then  I  thought  of  what  I  am  often  meditating 
upon — how  the  government  of  this  country  might 
be  improved. 

There  is  no  doubt  thr.t  our  constitution  is  a 
great  thing,  the  result  of  long  struggle  and  labour 
of  all  kinds  ;  Imt  still  how  much  its  working  might 
be  amended  ;  and  it  is  to  that  amendment  that 
the  attention  of  thoughtful  men  ought  to  be  directed. 
Let  us  look  at  the  matter  fraT\kly  on  all  sides. 

It  is  a  great  advantage  that  affairs  are  long 
considered  in  this  country. 

It  is  a^reat  advantage  that  scarcely  aijjL^ade 
of  opinion  is  without  a  hearing  in  the  greatlassem- 
blies  of  this  country. 

It  is  "aTgreat  iul vantage  that  a  number  of  persons 
are  cjccfcised  in  public  business  ;  anJ~that  our 
prospeYity  and  advancement  do  not  depend  on 
one  man,  or  even  on  a  few  men. 

It  is  a  great  advantage  that  grievaiicea-afe  sure 
to  be  discussed. 

On  the  other  hand,  let  us  honestly  allow  that 
it  is  a  great  evil,  that  the  choice  of  men  to  fill  the 
most  important  oflicos  should  be  chiefly  limited  to 
j)arliainentary  men. 

It  is  a  great  evil  that  Imnoiirs  and  places  should 
l>e  confined  to  them  and  theirs :  why  should  a 
man  be  made  a  ])eer  because  he  has  failed  in  an 
election,  or  a  baronet  iMicauso  his  vole  is  much 
wanted  ?  Such  things  are  too  bad,  and  must  be 
put  a  st<)p  to. 

It  is  a  great  (^vil  that  no  good  measures  can  be 
carried  swiftly — so  that  remedies  often  come  too 
aU.'. 


GO\^RNMENT  155 

What  an  improvement  it  would  be  if  peerages 
for  life  Tvere  permitted.  It  would,  in  my  opinion, 
supply  the  House  of  Lords  just  that  element  of 
popular  influence  which  is  wanted. 

And  so,  again,  of  official  seats  in  the  House  of 
Commons  ;  what  a  benefit  it  would  be  if  just  men 
could  be  put  there  occasionally,  whom  the  world 
would  be  glad  to  hsten  to.  but  whom  a  constitu- 
ency will  not  listen  to,  or  who  are  not  in  a  position 
to  ask  it  to  listen. 

We  must  hare  many  improvements  in  govern- 
ment. Questions  are  looming  in  the  distance 
wliich  will  require  the  ablest  minds  in  the  country. 
If  we  ever  become  more  sincere  as  individuals,  we 
shall  need  to  express  that  sincerity  in  political  action. 

It  seems  to  me  there  is  vast  room  for  improvement 
in  many  branches  of  government— in  finance,  in 
colonization,  in  dea,b'ng  with  the  poor,  in  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  state  as  regards  rehgion.  For,, 
whatever  some  of  us  may  think  or  wish,  reUgious 
questions  of  liigh  import  will  not  long  be  in  the 
background. 

At  present,  the  relations  between  people  in  power 
and  the  general  intelligence  of  the  country  are  not 
such  as  they  might  be. 

I  know  the  difficulty  of  any  sound  reforms  in 
government ;  but  if  we  never  attempt  any,  they 
are  sure  at  some  time  to  be  attempted  by  the 
clumsiest  and  coarsest  mechanism. 

The  loss  of  Sir  Robert  Peel  is  great  indeed,  I 
again  exclaimed  to  myself,  as  I  thought  what  an 
official  reformer  he  might  have  been  :  not  reckless 
to  change  or  blame,  inchned  to  give  due  considera- 
tion to  official  persons — a  class  of  men  who  amply 
deserve  it — and  carr\4ng  out  reforms,  not  in  a 
spirit  of  condemnation,  but  of  desire  for  increased 
effectiveness  and  force.  What  a  loss  in  that  man  ! 
I  will  go  and  talk  to  Dunsford,  I  said,  from  whom 
one  is  always  sure  of  sjmipathy  and  kindness. 


156    THE  CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND 

Without  delay  I  began  to  turn  my  steps  towards 
his  parsonage,  making  my  way  along  the  lanes 
with  lofty  hedges,  enjoying  the  scent  of  the  sweet 
hawthorn,  and  escaping,  as  far  as  might  be,  an 
east  wind,  whicli  with  a  warm  sun  made  a  most 
unpleasant  combination  of  weather ;  the  east 
wind,  like  some  small  private  vexation,  rendering 
the  rest  of  one's  prosperity  not  merely  unpalatable, 
but  ill-timed. 

As  I  went  along,  I  thought  of  the  Church  of 
England  and  of  what  might  be  its  future  fortunes. 
I  had  just  been  reading  the  works  of  two  brothere  : 
last  night  I  had  finished  an  elaborate  attack  from 
the  Foman  Catholic  side  upon  tlie  Anglican  Church 
by  one  brother  ;  and  this  morning  I  had  read  a 
very  skilful  attack  upon  all  present  religious  sys- 
tems by  another  brother.  And  I  thought  to  my- 
self, the  Church  of  England  sufifers  from  both 
attacks. 

One's  ac(|naintances  who  meet  one  in  the  streets, 
shrug  their  shoulders,  and  exclaim  '  What  a  state 
the  Churcli  is  in  !  Oh  that  these  questions  that 
divide  it  had  never  been  raised  '.  I  do  not  acree 
with  them,  and  sometimes  I  tell  them  so.  If  tliere 
arc  thcs(!  great  dillercnces  amongst  thoughtful 
men  about  great  subjects,  why  should  they  (the 
differences)  he  stifk^d  ?  Are  wo  always  to  be 
walking  aljout  as  masked  figures  ? 

No  doubt  it  is  a  sad  thing  that  worlcs  of  charity 
and  mercy  should  be  ever  inlcrruptcd  by  indclinite 
disputes  uptm  points  which  when  once  taken  up,  are 
\v\\h  extreme  difficulty  settled  well,  or  laid  aside. 
But  tlu^n.  on  llu!  other  hand,  how  much  pood  is 
prevented  l)y  the  (continuance  of  insincerity,  by 
an  inHin(MT(!  adhereneo  on  the  part  of  men  to  that 
whicli  they  believe  not.  Besides,  it  is  not  as  if 
all  went  on  smoothly  now  :  how  much,  for  in- 
stance, the  cause  of  (iducation  suffers  from  the 
exifltcnco  of  rcligioiis  differences. 


THE  CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND  157 

Moreover,  who  can  tell  the  general  mischief  pro- 
duced in  all  human  affairs  by  degrading  \iews  of 
religion,  which  more  thought  might  enlarge  or 
dispel.  ]^Ien's  laws  and  customs  are  merely  their 
reUgion  apphed  to  life.  And,  again,  what  a  pity 
it  would  be  if  controversy  were  abandoned  to  the 
weak  or  the  controversial  only :  so  that,  even  for 
the  sake  of  peace,  it  may  be  good  for  a  man  not 
to  suppress  his  thoughts  upon  rehgions  subjects, 
if  he  has  any. 

For  my  own  part,  it  has  long  appeared  to  me 
that  our  Church  stands  upon  foimdations  which 
need  more  breadth  and  soUdity,  both  as  regards 
the  hold  it  ought  to  have  on  the  reason,  and  on 
the  affection  of  its  members. 

As  to  the  hold  upon  the  reason :  suppose  we 
were  taught  to  study  scientifically,  up  to  a  certain 
point,  something  that  admitted  of  all  the  lights 
of  study  ;  and  were  then  called  upon  to  take  the 
rest  for  granted,  not  being  allowed  to  use  to  the 
uttermost  the  lights  of  history  and  criticism  which 
had  been  admitted  at  first  :  how  very  inconclu- 
sive the  so-called  conclusions  would  appear  to  us. 
It  would  be  Uke  placing  a  young  forest  tree  in  a 
hothouse  and  saying.  Grow  so  far,  if  you  like,  ex- 
pand to  the  uttermost  in  this  space  allowed  to  you, 
but  there  is  no  more  room  after  you  have  attained 
these  limits  ;  thenceforward  grow  inwards,  or 
do\^-nwards.  or  -n-ither  away.  Our  Church  is  too 
impersonal,  if  I  may  use  that  expression  :  it  be- 
longs too  much  to  books,  set  creeds  and  articles, 
and  not  enough  to  living  men  ;  it  does  not  admit 
easily  of  those  modifications  which  life  requires, 
and  Vhich  guard  Ufe  by  adapting  it  to  what  it  has 
to  bear. 

Again,  as  regards  affection,  ho^s*  can  any  but 
those  who  are  naturally  devout  and  affectionate, 
which  is  not  the  largest  class,  have  an  affectionate 
regard  for  anything  which  presents   so   cold  and 


158     THE  CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND 

formal  an  appearance  as  the  Church  of  England. 
The  services  are  too  long  ;  and,  for  the  most  part, 
are  surrounded  by  the  most  prosaic  circumstances. 
Too  many  sermons  are  preached  ;  and  yet,  after 
all,  too  httle  is  made  of  preaching.  The  preachers 
are  apt  to  confine  themselves  to  certain  topics, 
which,  however  really  great  and  solemn,  are  ex- 
iaustible,  at  least  as  far  as  men  can  tell  us  aught 
about  them.  Order,  decency,  cleanhness,  pro- 
priety, and  \ery  often  good  sense,  are  to  be  seen 
in  full  force  in  AngUcan  Churches  once  a  week  ; 
but  there  is  a  deficiency  of  heartiness. 

The  perfection  to  be  aimed  at,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
and  as  I  have  said  before,  would  be  a  Church  with 
a  very  simple  creed,  a  very  grand  ritual,  and  a 
useful  and  devoted  priesthood.  But  these  combi- 
nations are  only  in  Utopias,  Blessed  Islands,  and 
other  fabulous  places  :  no  vessel  enters  their  ports, 
for  they  are  as  j^et  only  in  the  minds  of  thoughtful 
men. 

In  forming  such  an  imaginary  Church,  there 
•certainly  are  some  things  that  might  be  adopted 
from  the  Roman  Catholics.  The  other  day  I  was 
at  Rouen  ;  I  went  to  see  the  grand  old  Cathedral  ; 
the  gicat  western  doors  were  thrown  wide  open 
right  upon,  the  market-place  filled  with  flowers, 
and,  in  the  centre  aisle,  not  befon^  any  image,  a 
poor  woman  and  her  child  were  jiraying.  I  was 
only  there  a  few  minutes,  and  these  two  figures 
remain  impressed  ujjon  my  mind.  It  is  smx'ly 
very  good  that  the  poor  should  have  some  place 
free  from  the  restraints,  the  inlerruj)tion8,  the 
familiarity,  and  the  sfjualidncss  of  home,  where 
they  may  think  a  great  thought,  utter  a  lonely 
sigh,  a  fervent  prayer,  nn  inward  wail.  And  the 
rich  need  the  same  thing  too. 

Protestantism,  when  it  shuts  up  its  churches, 
or   allows    fliscreditalile    two])enc«'s    to    be    paid    at 


REFORM  159 

the  door,  cannot  be  said  to  show  well  in  these 
matters.  In  becoming  so  nice  and  neat,  it  seems 
to  have  brushed  away  a  great  deal  of  meaning 
and  usefulness  with  the  dirt  and  irregularity. 

The  great  difficulty  in  reforming  any  Church 
lies  of  course  in  the  ignorance  of  its  members. 
Moreover,  there  may  be  great  indifference  to  any 
Church,  or  dissatisfaction  with  it,  amongst  its 
members ;  but  then  people  say  to  themselves, 
if  we  touch  this  or  that  thing  which  we  disapprove 
of,  we  do  not  know  what  harm  we  maj^  not  be 
doing  to  people  of  less  insight  or  less  caution  than 
ourselves,  and  so  they  go  on,  content  vrith  a  very 
rude  attempt  indeed  at  communion  in  spiritual 
matters,  pro^-ided  they  do  not,  as  they  woiild  say, 
unsettle  their  neighbours.  There  is  something 
good  and  humble  in  this  :  there  is  something  also 
of  indifference  ;  if  our  ancestors  had  always  been 
content  with  silent  protests  against  the  tilings 
they  disapproved  of,  we  might  have  been  in  a 
worse  position  than  we  are  now. 

To  lay  down  any  guidance  for  action  in  this 
matter  is  very  difficult  indeed.  According  to  the 
usual  course  of  human  affairs,  some  crisis  T^ill 
probably  occur,  which  nobody  foresees,  and  then 
men  will  be  obhged  to  speak  and  act  boldly.  It 
behoves  them  to  bethink  themselves,  from  time 
to  time,  of  wliither  they  are  tending  in  these 
all-important  matters. 

The  intellectual  energies  of  cultivated  men  want 
directing  to  the  great  questions.  If  there  is  doubt 
in  any  matter,  shall  we  not  examine  ?  Instead  of 
that,  men  shut  their  thoughts  up,  and  pretend  to 
be  orthodox — p'ay  at  being  orthodox.  Mean- 
Avhile,  what  an  cAnl  it  must  be  to  the  Church,  if 
through  unnecessary  articles  of  faith,  some  of  the 
best  men  are  prevented  from  becoming  clergymen, 
and  many  of  the  laity  rendered  less  hearty  members 
than  they  otherwise  would  be,  of  the  Church. 


160  A  CONVERSATIOX 

Dwelling  upon  such  thoughts  which  are  full  of 
pain  and  anxiety,  the  thoughts  of  one  who  is  always 
desirous  to  make  the  best  of  anytliing  that  is 
before  him,  and  who  is  well  a^^•a^e  how  hard  it 
is  to  reform  an\i:hing  from  without,  I  reached 
Dunsford's  quiet  little  parsonage. 

I  found  my  old  friend  sitting  in  his  garden  in 
the  very  spot  where  I  expected  to  find  him,  and  for 
which  I  made  my  way  ^v-ithout  going  through  the 
house.  In  the  middle  of  his  kitchen-garden  he 
has  placed  his  bee-hives,  and  has  surrounded 
them  by  a  semi-circle  of  juniper  trees  about  five 
feet  high.  In  front  of  the  bee-hives  is  a  garden- 
seat  upon  which  I  found  him  sitting  and  reciting 
Latin  poetry  to  himself,  which  I  had  no  difficulty 
in  discerning,  though  I  could  not  hear  the  words, 
to  be  from  his  favourite  author,  Virgil.  EUes- 
mere,  who  views  everything  in  a  di-oU  sarcastic 
way,  says  that  our  friend  has  chosen  this  particular 
seat  in  his  garden  from  its  being  likely  to  be  the 
place  least  disturbed  by  his  sister  and  his  curate. 
Though  very  good  peoj)lc  they  are  somewhat  fussy 
and  given  to  needless  gesticulation  which  the  bees 
dislike,  and  occasionally  express  their  dislike  in 
a  very  tangilile  manner.  This  spot,  therefore, 
which  is  guarded  l<y  thousands  of  little  soldiers 
well-armed  and  well -equipped,  distinguished  from 
their  human  prototypes  by  gaining  supplies  and 
not  by  Wcisting  them,  affords  a  very  secure  retreat 
for  our  friend  \shere  he  can  talk  Virgil  to  himself 
for  half  an  hour  on  a  sunny  morning. 

It  was  not  altogether  without  trepidation  that 
I  took  my  seat  by  his  side  amidst  innumerable 
bu/./.ings  and  whizzings  ;  but  ho  assured  me  with 
a  Hmilc  that  the  bees  would  not  hurt  me,  and  in 
a  minute  or  two  their  presence  was  only  like  a 
imiriiiur  of  the  distant  wind  through  the  trees. 

I  began  at  fmce  to  narrate  to  Dunsford  the 
iixhincliolv    circumstances    of    Sir    liolxTt     Peel's 


A  CONVERSATION  161 

death  which  he  had  not  heard  of  before,  and  which 
affected  him  deeply.  Naturally  his  emotion  in- 
creased my  own.  After  I  had  told  him  the  sad 
story,  and  answered  his  various  questions  about  it, 
we  remained  silent  for  a  time.  I  looked  at  the 
bees  and  thought  of  Manchester  and  other  of  the 
great  hives  and  marts  of  industry  :  Dunsford  went 
on  wth  his  Virgil  :  at  last  we  thus  resumed  our 
dialogue. 

Dunsford.  I  do  not  wonder,  my  dear  Leonard, 
that  you  were  much  affected  by  Sir  Robert's  death. 
I  always  felt  how  much  you  ought  to  sympathize 
A^-ith  him.  Indeed  there  are  two  or  three  minor 
points  in  which  you  often  put  me  a  little  in  mind 
of  him. 

Milverton.  It  is  strange  I  never  heard  you  say 
so. 

Dunsford.  I  did  not  think  you  much  admired 
him,  or  would  feel  pleased  at  being  likened  to  him 
in  anything.  But  this  is  what  I  mean — it  always 
appeared  to  me,  that  he  had  the  most  peculiar 
appreciation  of  the  irrationality  and  difficulty  to 
manage,  of  manldnd.  This  was  one  of  the  things 
wliich  made  him  so  cautious.  He  never  threw 
out  his  views  or  oi^inions  till  the  moment  when 
they  were  to  be  expressed  in  action.  He  did  not 
want  to  provoke  needless  opposition.  In  short  it 
was  clear  that  he  had  the  keenest  apprehension 
of  the  folly  of  the  world  :  he  was  very  obstinate 
withal,  or,  as  I  had  better  say,  resolved  ;  and  very 
sensitive.  He  did  nothing  under  the  hope  that 
it  would  pass  easily,  and  cost  him  nothing  to  do  ; 
and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  though  he  foresaw  dis- 
tinctly opposition  and  unreason  and  calumny,  he 
felt  them  more  perhaps  than  quite  beseemed  so 
wise  and  resolute  a  man  when  they  did  come. 
You  best  know  whether  I  am  right  in  attributing 
some  of  the  same  strength  and  some  of  the  same 
weakness  to  the  man  who  sits  beside  me. 


162  A  COX^^:RSATIOX 

Milverton.  I  neither  admit,  nor  deny ;  but 
surely,  Dunsford,  it  is  not  un^nnse  nor  imprudent 
to  expect  to  have  every  degree  of  irrationahty 
to  battle  ^-ith  in  anything  one  may  undertake  ; 
and  time  is  seldom  lost  in  preparing  to  meet  that 
irrationahty  ;  or  strength,  in  keeping  one's  pro- 
jects long  before  one.  This  is  is  not  merely  worldly 
wisdom  ;  such  conduct  results  from  a  deep  care 
for  the  success  of  the  project  itself. 

Diauford.  ^luch  of  it  is  the  result  of  tempera- 
ment ;  and  temperament  is  a  part  of  our  nature 
sooner  developed  than  almost  any  other.  How 
soon  you  see  it  in  children,  and  how  decisvely 
marked. 

Milverton.  I  cannot  help  thinking  what  a 
shrewd  man  you  are,  Dunsford,  when  you  choose 
to  be  so.  It  is  you  who  ought  to  conduct  great 
law-cases,  and  \\r\\.Q  essays,  instead  of  leaving 
Buch  things  to  Ellesmere  and  myself,  and  pretend- 
ing that  you  are  the  simple,  unworldly,  retired 
man,  content  to  receive  your  impressioris  of  men 
and  things  from  your  pupils.  I  suppose  that 
watching  these  bees,  gives  you  a  great  insight 
into  the  management  of  states  and  the  conduct 
of  individuals.  You  recite  Virgil  to  them,  and 
they  buzz  into  your  ears  bee-wisdom  of  the  most 
retinod  kind. 

Dunsjord.  Talking  of  essays,  may  I  ask,  Mr 
Milverton,  what  you  arc  about  ?  You  have  not 
been  near  mc  for  some  time,  and  I  always  construe 
your  absence  into  some  new  work. 

MilverUm.  You  are  right  in  this  case,  but  I 
mostly  avoid  talking  about  what  I  am  doing,  at 
least  till  it  is  in  some  state  of  forwardness.  Talk- 
ing prevents  doing.  Silence  is  the  great  fellow- 
workman. 

I)unxf(ird.     The  bees  ? 

Milverton.  They  buzz  when  they  come  home  : 
they  are  silent  enough  at  their  work     Moreover, 


ON  CRITICISM  163 

I  am  beginning  to  care  less  and  less  about  criticisnt 
during  the  progress  of  work,  fearing  less  you  see, 
Dunsford,  the  irrationality  of  the  world  ;  for  what 
you  mainly  aim  to  get  at  by  Ustening  to  criticism 
is  not  so  much  what  will  be  understood,  as  what 
will  be  misunderstood — and  that  misunderstanding 
arises  sometimes  from  your  own  error  in  thought, 
sometimes  from  bungling  workmanship,  sometime^ 
from  the  irrationahty  of  mankind  ;  or  from  some 
unfortunate  combination  of  these  various  sources 
of  error.  My  growing  indifference  to  criticism, 
in  fact  the  reason  why  my  steps  have  not  been 
bent  so  often  lately  in  the  direction  of  the  Rectory, 
I  would  have  you  to  beUeve  results,  not  from  any 
increasing  confidence  in  my  own  workmanship, 
but  from  my  growing  faith  in  the  general  ration-, 
ality  and  kindhness  of  mankind. 

Dunsford.     Humph ! 
'    Milverton.     Besides  my  endeavours  and  aspira- 
tions are  so  humble — 

Dunsford.     Humph ! 

Milverton,  You  will  agree  with  me  when  you, 
see  what  I  mean.  They  are  so  humble  that  they 
do  not  require  all  that  adverse  criticism  and  con- 
sequent moulding  which  more  elaborate  schemes 
might  do.  For  instance,  I  believe  in  the  indefinite 
improvabihty  of  ourselves  and  of  everything 
around  us.  Do  not  be  frightened,  and  look  up 
so  strangely,  Dunsford  :  I  do  not  mean  perfecti- 
biUty.  Now,  if  by  way  of  carrying  out  this  belief 
of  mine,  I  had  any  scheme  of  social  regeneration, 
in  which  everything  and  everybody  was  to  be  put 
in  his,  or  its  right  place,  of  course  it  would  have 
been  necessary  for  me  to  have  come  very  often 
over  to  the  Rectory,  to  drink  in  sound  wisdom  in 
the  way  of  all  kinds  of  comment,  objection,  and 
elaboration,  from  you  and  Lucy  and  these  wise 
bees. 

Dunsford.     I  declare,  Milverton,  when  Ellesmere 


164  SANATORY  REFORM 

is  not  vrith  us,  you  play  both  his  part  and  your 
own  ;   but  go  on. 

Milverton.  No — but,  seriously,  my  dear  Duns- 
ford,  to  go  on  with  my  schemes  of  improvability, 
I  assure  you  they  are  on  a  very  humble  basis. 
Looking  around  I  see  what  slight  things  are  often 
the  real  hindrances  to  the  best  endeavours  of  men. 
I  would  aim  to  take  these  hindrances  out  of  a  man's 
path.  Mark  you,  I  do  not  expect  that  he  will 
therefore  become  a  greater  man,  but  he  will  cer- 
tainly be  able  to  act  more  like  one.  To  descend 
to  particulars,  whj'  I  delight  so  much  in  sanatory 
reform  is  not  so  much  in  the  thing  itself,  if  I  may 
say  so,  as  in  the  additional  j)ower  and  freedom  it 
gives  to  mankind.  I  do  not  know  what  social 
arrangements  wiW  be  good  for  the  coming  genera- 
tion, what  churches  will  be  best  for  them,  what 
forms  of  legislation  ;  but  I  am  sure  that  in  what- 
ever they  do,  they  will  be  entangled  Avith  fewer 
difficulties,  and  will  act  more  healthfully  and 
wisely,  if  they  are  healthy  men  themselves. 
Dunsford.  Good  doctrine,  I  think. 
Milverton.  In  the  same  way  I  would  seek  to 
remove  all  manner  of  social  disabilities,  always 
again  with  a  view  to  the  future,  that  the  removal 
of  these  disabilities  may  give  room  for  more  free- 
dom of  thought  and  action. 

'    Dunsford.     I  do  not  quite  understand  this,  but 
do  not  wait  to  explain  :    go  on. 

Milverton.  It  is  for  the  same  reasons  that  I 
delight  in  education  (and  you  know  that  I  do 
not  mean  a  small  thing  by  education)  because  of 
its  enabling  powers,  to  use  a  legislative  phrase. 
Here  again  I  do  not  pretend  to  see  what  will  be- 
come of  people  when  educated,  or  to  suggest  the 
ff)rms  that  such  discipline  will  ultimately  fit  them 
fi)r  ;  but  I  cannot  but  believe  that  it  will  make 
any  people  into  material  more  malleable  in  the 
handn  of  th(!  wise  and  good — of  those  who  should 


COMPLEXITIES        __        165 

be,  and  who,  to  a  certain  extent  are,  the  leaders 
of  each  generation.  Indeed,  I  believe  that  always 
as  men  become  greater,  they  are  more  easy  to  deal 
with, 

Lhinsford.  I  begin  to  see  what  you  would  be 
at. 

Milverton.  I  conceive  that  as  civilization  ad- 
vances, a  thousand  little  complexities  arise  with 
it.  To  untie  them  in  any  way  may  be  a  humble 
effort,  but  seems  to  me  a  most  needful  one.  What 
we  are  ever  wanting  is  to  give  freedom  without 
licence  :    to  free  a  man  from  mean  conformity 

Dunsford.  By  making  him  conform  to  some- 
thing higher.  I  think,  Slilverton,  I  have  assisted 
in  pointing  this  out  to  you  when  I  was  afraid  that 
you  were  making  too  much  war  upon  conformity. 

Milverton.  It  is  only  one  of  many  things,  my 
dear  friend,  which  I  have  learned  from  you. 

Dunsford.  Thank  you,  my  dear  Leonard.  I 
must  say  you  have  always  been  most  willing  to 
give  more  than  due  heed  to  anything  your  old 
tutor  has  said,  with  the  exception  of  the  advice  he 
used  to  tender  to  you  at  college  about  getting  up 
certain  problems  in  the  DiSerential  and  Integral 
Calculus. 

Milverton.  And  I  wish  I  had  listened  to  that 
advice  also. 

Dunsford.  But  are  you  not  a  little  afraid,  my 
friend,  (not  that  I  would  say  one  word  against 
any  good  purpose  you  may  have)  that  with  all 
your  imaginary  cultivation  and  enabling  men  to 
act  more  freely  and  wisely  by  the  removal  of  small 
disabilities,  which  yet  I  admit  may  be  great  hin- 
drances :  are  you  not  afraid,  that  after  all  we 
shall  advance  into  something  very  tiresome,  some- 
what of  a  dead  level,  which  observers  even  now 
say  is  very  visible  in  the  world — ^no  great  man, 
btit  a  number  of  decent,  ordinary,  cultivated, 
common-place  persons  ?     I  believe  I  am  now  talk- 


166  NO  DEAD  LEVEL 

ing  EUesmere  to  you  ;  for,  in  reality,  I  prefer  the 
advancement  of  the  great  mass  of  mankind  to  any 
pre-eminence  of  a  few :  but  still  I  should  like  to 
near  what  you  have  to  say  to  this  objection. 

Milverton.  I  am  delighted  that  you  have  raised 
it.  I  suspect  there  is  a  great  delusion  in  this  matter. 
The  notion  that  there  is  a  dead  level  in  modern 
times  is  a  mistake  :  it  is  only  that  there  are  more 
eminences.  Formerly,  one  class  or  kind  of  men 
made  a  noise  in  the  world,  or  at  least  made  the 
chief  noise  ;  and,  looking  across  the  hazy  distances 
of  time,  we  are  deluded  by  great  names.  An 
^Uexander,  a  Timour  the  Tartar,  an  Atilla,  a 
Charlemagne,  loom  large  in  the  distance.  There 
were  not  so  many  ways  to  pre-eminence  then — 
added  to  which,  I  should  be  very  slow  to  connect 
greatness  of  thought,  or  greatness  of  nature,  with 
resounding  deeds. 

Duns  ford.  Surely,  at  the  latter  end  of  the 
fifteenth,  and  in  the  sixteenth  century,  there 
were  unrivalled  great  men — a  galaxy  of  them. 

Milverton.  Yes,  I  admit ;  and  no  man  looks 
up  to  some  of  the  personages  of  that  era  with 
more  reverence  and  regard  than  I  do  :  and,  more- 
over, I  would  not  contend  that  there  may  not  be 
an  occasional  galaxy,  as  you  have  termed  it,  of 
such  men.  But  all  I  have  to  contend  against  is, 
that  the  tendency  of  modern  cultivation  is  not 
necessarily  to  bring  men  to  a  dead  level,  and  to 
subdue  all  real  greatness. 

Dunsford,  But  you  must  admit  that  there  is 
a  certain  smallncss  in  the  men  of  our  time,  and 
ft  foolish  hurry  in  their  7)roceedings. 

Milverton.  No:  that  is  not  exactly  what  we 
have  reason  to  complain  of,  but  rather  a  certain 
coldncHH,  an  undue  care  for  respectability,  and 
too  much  desire  to  be  safe.  One  of  our  most  ob- 
servant men,  who  has  seen  a  great  deal  of  the 
worid,    and    always    desired    to    understand    the 


THE  YOUNG  167 

generation  under  him  as  well  as  that  which  came 
before  him,  says,  that  the  young  men  of  the  present 
day  are  better  than  the  young  men  of  his  time  ; 
but  there  is  one  thing  that  he  complains  of  in  them, 
and  that  is,  their  fear  of  ridicule.  To  a  certain 
extent  he  is  right,  I  think  ;  only  I  should  modify 
his  remark  a  little,  and  say,  that  it  is  not  exactly 
that  they  fear  ridicule,  as  that  they  dislike  to  put 
themselves  in  a  position  that  may  justly  be  made 
ridiculous.  It  is  partly  caution,  partly  fastidious- 
ness, partly  a  fear  of  ridicule. 

Dunsfoid.  Well,  then,  I  think  that  each  man 
is  more  isolated  than  he  used  to  be.  There  is  less 
of  clanship,  less  of  the  railing  roimd  men  of  force 
or  genius.  How  very  rare  a  thing  it  is  for  one 
man  to  devote  himself  to  the  purposes  framed  by 
another's  mind,  or  to  give  evidence  of  something 
like  devotion  to  his  person.  Yet  this  would  often 
be  the  wisest  and  the  noblest  form  of  exertion. 

Milverton.  But  then  there  woiild  be  no  origin- 
aUty,  as  they  think,  and  there  is  now  a  diseased 
desire  for  originality,  which  is  never  to  be  got  by 
the  men  who  seek  it.  All  the  while  the  most 
original  thing  would  be  to  be  humble  and  subser- 
vient to  great  purposes,  from  whomsoever  adopted. 
At  the  same  time,  I  must  say  that,  as  far  as  I 
have  observed,  the  yoimg  would  be  very  devoted 
to  forw^ard  the  purposes  of  their  elders  and  superiors, 
whether  in  parham':^nt,  in  offices,  or  in  any  other 
fimctions  of  civil  life  :  and  I  think  that  in  our  times, 
great  fault  has  often  been  on  the  side  of  the  elders 
m  not  making  just  use  of  the  young  talent  lying 
everywhere  about  them. 

Duns  ford.     That  may  be. 

Milverton.  Indeed,  Dunsford,  it  is  not  every- 
one who,  like  yourself,  is  anxious  to  elicit  the 
powers,  and  to'  carrj'  forward  the  purposes,  of 
younger  men.  It  requires  a  great  deal  of  kind- 
hearted  imagination  to  do  that. 


168  NATURAL  BEAUTY 

Dunsford.  You  make  too  much  of  this,  Milverton. 
It  is  natural  that  I  should  care  about  my  own 
pupils  more  than  anything  else.  I  live  in  their 
doings. 

Milverton.  And  in  your  new  edition,  that  is  to 
be,  the  Second  part  of  Algebra,  as  Ellesmere  would 
say,  if  he  were  here  :  but,  to  return  to  our  sub- 
ject, I  will  tell  you,  at  least  I  will  try  and  tell  you, 
in  a  somewhat  fanciful  way,  what  I  think  of  the 
whole  matter. 

Have  you  ever  known  well  a  beautiful  bit  of 
natural  scenery,  before  man  has  come  to  settle 
in  it,  a  cliff  near  the  sea,  a  mead  near  a  lake,  or 
the  outskirts  of  a  noble  forest  ?  If  so,  you  recol- 
lect the  dclicatoly-rounded,  gracefully  indented, 
or  grotesquely  out -jutting  forms,  which  the  rock, 
or  the  hill,  or  the  margin  of  the  waters,  or  the  out- 
skirts of  the  wood  had  taken — forms  dear  to  the 
painter  and  the  poet.  (Here  Lucy  entered  the 
enclosure  where  we  were  sitting.) 

Lucy.  The  painter  and  the  poet — I  am  sure 
this  is  something  which  I  may  listen  to,  Mr  Mil- 
verton ;    may  I  not  ? 

Milverton.  There  are  few  persons,  Lucy,  who 
liave  more  feeling  for  the  works  of  painters  and 
poets  ;  and  so  you  have  a  right  to  hear  anj'thing 
that  is  to  be  said  about  them.  (I  then  repeated 
to  her  tlu!  former  })art  of  the  sentence.)  You 
then,  perhaps,  after  an  interval  of  many  years 
pass  by  the  same  ])lace.  A  number  of  square 
wliitc  houses,  poor  in  form  and  (luestionable^  in 
design,  deface  the  Ix-autiful  s})()t.  The  delicate 
imjjrcssions  of  nature  arc  gone,  and,  in  their  stead, 
nre  the  angular  marks  of  men's  handy-work.  The 
painter  Iiurrics  by  the  place  ;  llie  poet,  too,  unless 
he  is  a  very  ]ihilos<)])liic  (nv,  passes  shuddering  by. 
But,  in  reality,  wliat  forms  of  beauty,  in  conduct, 
in  HufTering,  in  endeavour;  what  tragedies,  what 
romanccH  ;     what    footprints,   as    it   were,    angelic 


AND  CIVIL  ZATION  IBS' 

and  demonaic — now  belong  to  that  spot.  It  is 
true,  we  have  lost  wonderful  lichens  and  those 
exquisitely-coloured  mosses  on  the  rocks  which 
were  the  delight  of  the  artist.  Perhaps  there  are 
now  ungainly  initials  in  their  place,  illustrative 
however  of  a  deeper  poetry  than  ever  was  there 
before.  But  I  grow  too  fanciful,  and  must  descend 
to  prosaic  explanations.  I  mean,  in  short,  that 
though  there  is  more  cultivation  (which,  it  must 
be  confessed,  effaces  somewhat  of  the  natural 
rugged  beautj-  of  the  scene),  there  is  also  more  of 
a  higher  beauty  which  sits  beside  the  other  (plain 
prosaic  cultivation)  always,  though  oft  unkenned 
by  mortal  eyes.  So,  in  the  advancement  of  man- 
kind, the  great  barbaric  outlines  are  broken  into, 
and  defaced  ;  but  a  thousand  new  beauties,  ne\\- 
delicacies,  even  new  greatnesses,  take  their  place. 
Nature  is  ever  affluent  in  such  things  ;  and  tlais 
effect  of  cultivation  is  to  be  seen,  not  only  in  man- 
kind, but  in  individual  men.  For  instance,  Duns- 
ford,  the  very  shyness  and  coldness  of  modern 
youth  arises  in  some  measure  from  the  gi'owth  of 
tact  and  delicac)^  But  I  need  not  explain  further  % 
you  see  what  I  mean. 

Dunsford.  I  think  I  do  ;  and,  as  it  is  a  chari- 
table view,  I  wish  to  think  it  a  true  one.  But  I 
could  object  to  your  metaphor,  if  I  chose  to  do  so. 

Lucy.  And  is  it  equally  true,  Mr  Jlilverton, 
with  the  young  ladies  as  \\\i\\  the  young  gentle- 
men ? 

Milverton.  Wliy,  my  dear  Lucy,  the  young 
ladies  are  always  of  course  more  in  harmony  Mith 
nature.  Though  women  are  more  slavish  to  small 
conventionalities  than  men,  the  real  advance  of 
civilization  teUs  much  less  upon  women  than  upon 
men.  One  who  Icnew  them  well  says  that  '  The 
ideas  of  justice,  of  virtue,  of  vice,  of  goodness,  of 
wickedness,  float  only  on  the  surface  of  theii"  souls 
(consequently   the   prevailing  ideas   amongst   men 


170  WOMEN 

■on  these  subjects  make  comparatively  little  im- 
pression upon  women),  in  the  depths  of  which 
(their  souls)  they  have  '  I'amour  propre  et  I'interct 
personnel '  (I  quote  his  very  words)  %nth  all  the 
■energy  of  nature  ;  and,  more  ci\-ilized  than  our- 
selves from  without,  they  have  remained  true 
savages  -\nthin  ;  (plus  ci\'ilisees  que  nous  en  dehors, 
elles  sont  restces  de  vraies  sauvages  en  dedans)  '. 

Lwcy.  The  man  is  a  savage  himself :  he  must 
be  a  iS-ench  Mr  Ellesmere. 

Milvertoyu  They  are  daring  words,  certainly ; 
but  perhaps  they  have  a  scintilla  of  trutli  in  them. 
However,  I  will  come  again  some  day,  and  endea- 
vour to  elucidate  these  things  a  httle  further. 
Now  I  see  the  bees  are  flocking  homewards  with 
weU-laden  thighs,  and  I,  too,  must  go  back  to  my 
hive,  well  laden  '«-ith  the  wisdom  to  be  gained 
from  the  thoughtful  trees  and  beautiful  flowers  of 
the  Rectory. 

Dunsfordy 

At  fessa'  mu]t;"i  referunt  so  nocte  niinores, 
Crura  thyme  plena" :   pascimtur  et  arhuta  passim, 
Et  glaucas  salic'cs,  casiamque  crocum(|iic  nibentem, 
Et  pingucm  tiliam,  et  fornigineos  hyacinthos. 
Omnibus  \ma  quies  openim.  labor  omnibus  imus. 

Milverton.  'isow.  Miss  Lucy,  you  must  trans- 
late. I  know  you  do  (hat  with  all  your  uncle's 
favourite  bits  :  and  to  tell  tlie  truth,  I  have  for- 
gotten some  of  the  words.     What  ia  tilia  ' 

Lucy.  You  must  not  l)e  very  critical  then,  if 
I  do  translate,  and  ask  for  every  word  to  Ix^  ren- 
dered. 

Now  homewards  come,  borne  on  tne  evening  breeze, 

With  hcavy-liulen  thighs,  the  younger  becs: 

Kach  in  tlie  arbutus  has  hid  his  head, 

In  yellow  willow-bloom,  in  crnciis  red. 

And  the  rich  foliage  which  the  lindens  spread; 

One  common  labour  ea^h  companion  knows, 

.Anfl  for  the  weary  swarm  is  one  repose. 


TOLERANCE  171 

Milverton.  A  little  liberal,  Lucy,  but  it  gives 
some  of  the  sense  of  the  passage,  I  think ;  and 
you  are  a  good  girl  for  not  making  more  fuss  about 
letting  me  hear  it.  I  really  must  go  now ;  so 
good-bye. 

And  so  I  walked  homewards,  thinking  much  of 
Dunsford's  mild  wisdom,  and  how  beautiful  it  is 
to  see  old  age  gracefully  filling  its  high  vocation 
of  a  continually-enlarging  sympathy  with  the 
young,  and  tolerance  for  them.  As  Goethe  says, 
'  A  man  has  only  to  become  old  to  be  tolerant ; 
I  see  no  fault  committed ',  he  adds,  '  which  I  also 
might  not  have  committed '.  But  then  it  is  a 
Goethe  who  is  speaking.  Dunsford  has  reached 
to  the  same  level  of  toleration  by  sheer  goodness 
of  nature. 


CHAPTER  XITI 

THE  ART  OF  COMEsG  TO  AN  END  AND  KNOWING  WHEN 
TO  LEAVE  OFF — THOUGHTS  SUGGESTED  BY  THE 
STAKS 

A  LONG,  solitary  ride  enabled  me  to-day  to  bring 
to  a  conclusion  a  chapter  which  I  had  been  thinking 
of  for  some  time.  It  is  difficult  for  a  man,  unless 
he  is  a  perfect  horseman,  to  think  connectedly 
during  a  ride,  which  is  the  very  reason  why  horse- 
exercise  is  so  good  for  the  studious  and  the  busy  ; 
but  the  inspiriting  nature  of  the  exercise  may  enable 
the  rider  to  overcome  special  points  of  difficulty 
in  any  subject  he  is  thinking  over.  In  truth,  a 
siibject  of  any  magnitude  requires  to  be  thought 
over  in  all  moods  of  mind  ;  and  that  alone  is  one 
great  reason  for  maintaining  thoughts  long  in 
mind,  before  expressing  them  in  speech  or  A\Titing, 
that  they  come  to  be  considered  and  reconsidered 
under  aU  aspects,  and  to  be  modified  by  the  various 
fortunes  and  states  of  temperament  of  the  thinker. 

There  is  all  the  difference  between  the  thoughts 
of  a  man  -n-ho  is  plodding  homewards  on  his  own 
legs,  under  an  umbrella,  and  those  of  the  same 
man  who,  on  horseback,  is  springing  over  the 
elastic  turf,  careless  whether  ■wind  or  rain  drives 
against  him  or  not,  that  there  was  between  the 
after-dinner  and  the  next  morning  councils  of  the 
ancient  Germans. 

-And,    indeed,    the    subject    I    was    thinking    of. 


174  ART  OF  LEAVING  OFF 

needs  to  be  considered  in  all  weathers  of  the  soul, 
for  it  is  very  large,  and  if  I  could  present  to  other 
minds  what  comes  under  tliis  subject  in  mine,  I 
should  have  said  a  good  deal  of  all  that  I  may  have 
to  say  on  most  subjects. 

Without  more  introductory  words,  for  a  long 
introduction  would  be  especially  out  of  place  in 
this  case,  the  subject  in  question  is  the  art  of  coming 
to  an  end. 

Almost  all  human  affairs  are  tedious.  Ever- 
thing  is  too  long.  Visits,  dinners,  concerts,  plays, 
speeches,  pleadings,  essays,  sermons,  are  too  long. 
Pleasure  and  business  labour  equally  under  this 
defect,  or,  as  I  should  rather  say,  this  fatal  super- 
abundance. 

It  mu.st  not  be  supposed  that  tiresomeness 
belongs  to  virtue  alone.  Few  people  are  more 
pedantic  and  tiresome  than  the  vicious ;  and  I 
doubt  whether  if  one  were  thrown  on  a  desert 
island,  and  had  only  the  means  of  rescuing  Blair's 
works  and  many  fictions  of  decidedly  bad  tendency, 
but  thought  to  be  amusing,  one  would  not  exclaim 
'  Blair  for  ever  ',  and  hurl  the  fictions  into  their 
element,  the  water. 

But  lot  us  trace  this  Icngthiness,  not  only  in 
the  results  of  men's  works,  but  in  tlicir  modes  of 
operation.  ■  •}  1\ 

Which,  of  all  defects,  has  l)cen  the  one  most  fatal 
to  a  good  stylo  ?  The  not  knowing  when  to  come 
to  an  end.  Take  some  inferior  writer's  works. 
Dismiss  nearly  all  the  adjectives  ;  when  ho  uses 
many  sul)stantives,  either  in  juxtaposition,  or  in 
rioine  depemhince  on  each  otiier,  reduce  him  to 
one;  do  th(!  satnc^  thing  witli  the  verbs  ;  finally, 
omit  all  the  adverlw  :  and  you  will,  perhaps,  find 
out.  that  this  writer  had  sokicI  liing  to  say,  which 
you  rniifht  never  have  discovurod,  if  you  had 
not    removed    the    superfluous   words.     Indeed,  in 


GOING  TOO  FAR  175 

thinking  of  the  kind  of  %\Titing  that  is  needed,  I 
am  reminded  of  a  stanza  in  a  wild  Arab  song,, 
which  runs  thus  : 


Terrible  he  lodo  alone, 

With  his  Yemen  sword  for  aid  ; 
Ornament  it  carried  none. 

But  the  notches  on  the  blade. 


So,  in  the  best  wTiting,  only  that  is  ornament 
w'hich  shows  some  ser\nce  done,  which  has  some- 
dint  of  thought  about  it. 

Then  there  is  a  whole  class  of  things  which,, 
though  good  in  themselves,  are,  often,  entirely 
siDoilt  by  being  carried  out  too  far  and  inoppor- 
tunely. "  Such  are  punctiliousness,  neatness,  order,, 
laboiir  of  finish,  and  even  accuracy.  The  man 
who  does  not  know  how  to^leave  off,  will  make 
accuracy  frivolous  and  vexatious.  And  so  with 
all  the  rest  of  these  good  things,  people  often  per- 
severe with  them  so  inaptly  and  so  inopportunely 
as  to  contravene  all  their  real  merits.  Such  people 
put  me  in  mind  of  plants  which,  belonging  to  one 
country  and  having  been  brought  to  another, 
persist  in  flowering  in  those  months  in  which  they, 
or  their  ancestors,  were  used  to  flower  in  the  old 
country.  There  is  one  in  a  garden  near  me  which 
in  February  delights  to  show  the  same  gay  colours 
for  a  day  or  two  here,  in  these  northern  climes, 
with,  which  it  was  wont  to  indulge  the  far-off  in- 
habitants of  countries  near  the  Black  Sea.  It  is 
in  vain  that  I  have  remonstrated  \vith  this  pre- 
cocious shrub  about  its  showing  its  good  qualities 
at  so  inappropriate  a  period  ;  and  in  fact  it  can 
make  so  good  an  answer  to  any  man  who  thus 
addresses  it,  that,  perhaps,  it  is  better  to  saj^ 
nothing  and  pass  by,  thinking  only  of  our  own 
faults  in  this  respect — and  then,  indeed,  the  shrub 


176  MAKING  WORK 

M-ill  not  have  flowered  quite  in  vain,  if  it  has  been 
only  for  a  single  day. 

A  similar  error  in  not  knoAnng  when  to  leave  off 
occurs  in  the  exercise  of  the  critical  faculty,  which 
some  men  use  till  they  have  deadened  the  crea- 
tive :  and,  in  like  manner,  men  cavil  and  dissect 
and  dispute  till  that  which  was  merely  meant  as 
a  means  of  discovering  error  and  baffling  false 
statement,  becomes  the  only  end  they  care  about 
. — the  truth  for  them. 

But  a  far  more  important  field  for  this  error  of 
superabundance,  is  in  the  \'ices  of  mankind.  If 
men  had  but  known  when  to  leave  off.  what  would 
have  become  of  aml)ition,  avarice,  gluttony,  quar- 
relling, cruelty.  M(^3^_^a  on  con()Ucring  for  con- 
quering's  sake,  as  they  do  hoarding  for  hoardjrig's 
•§ake.  If  it  be  trup  that  Matl^ljoi-ough  went  on 
gaining  needless  victories,  wasting  uncalled-for 
blood  and  treasure,  what  a  contemptible  thing  it 
is  !  I  say  '  if  '  he  did  so,  for  Init  a  little  investiga- 
tion into  history  shows  one  how  grievously  men 
have  lieen  misrepresented,  and,  not  having  looked 
into  the  matter,  I  will  not  take  tlie  res|)onsil)i!ity 
of  till- accusation  on  invself.  But  the  instance,  if 
just,  is  an  apt  one  ;  and,  certainly,  there  are  many 
similar  instances  in  great  commanders  to  bear  it 
•out.  But  what  a  contemptible  a])plication  of 
talent  it  is,  that  a  man  should  go  on  doing  some- 
thing very  well  which  is  not  wanted,  and  should 
make  work  for  himself  that  lie  may  shine  or  at 
!<ast  be  occuj)i('d.  It  is  al)solutcly  childish.  Such 
<liil(ln-ii  liavc  great  comiuerors  l)e(>n. 

It  is  a  grand  thing  for  a.  man  to  know  when 
lie  lias  done  his  worU.  How  majestic,  for  instance, 
is  thf!  retirement  of  Sylla,  Diocletian  and  Charles 
the  Fifth.  These  men  may  not  afford  particu- 
larly spotless  instances,  but  we  must  make  the 
•.most  of  those  we  have.     There  are  very  few  men 


ART  OF  LEAVING  OFF  177 

who  know  how  to  quit  any  great  office,  or  to  divest 
thetfiSet^sTof  any  robe  of  power. 

How  much,  again,  this  error  of  not  knowing 
when  to  leave  off,  pervades  the  various  pursuits 
of  men.  Plow  it  is  to  be  seen  in  art  and  litera- 
ture ;  how  much  too  in  various  professions  and 
various  crafts.  The  end  is  lost  sight  of  in  a  foolish 
exercise  of  some  facility  in  dealing  with  the  means  ; 
as  when  a  man  goes  on  Avriting  for  writing's  sake, 
having  nothing  moi-e  to  tell  us  ;  or  when  a  man 
who  exercises  some  craft  moderately  well  for  the 
sake  of  gain,  confines  himself  to  that  craft  and  is 
a  craftsman  nowhere  else,  when  the  gain  is  no 
longer  needful  for  him. 

But  it  may  be  said,  why  speak  of  the  art  of  leaving 
off  :  the  instances  you  have  given  might  sometimes 
be  put  under  the  head  of  not  knowing  how  to  be- 
gin ;  or,  at  any  rate,  they  might  more  legitimately 
come  under  tlie  heads  of  the  various  evil  passions 
and  habits  to  which  they  seem  to  belong.  I  do 
not  altogether  deny  this,  but  at  the  same  time  I 
wish  to  show  that  there  is  an  art  of  leaving  off 
which  may  be  exercised  independently,  if  I  may 
so  express  it,  of  the  various  affections  of  the 
mind. 

This  art  will  depend  greatly  upon  a  just  apprecia- 
tion of  form  and  proportion.  Where  this  propor- 
tion is  wanting  in  men's  thoughts  or  lives,  they 
become  one-sided.  The  mind  enters  into  a  peculiar 
slavery,  and  hardens  into  a  creature  of  mere  habits 
and  customs.  The  comparative  youthfulness  of 
men  of  genius,  which  has  often  been  noticed,  re- 
sults from  their  finer  sense  of  proportion  than  that 
of  other  men,  which  prevents  their  being  enslaved 
by  the  things  which  gradually  close  up  the  avenues 
of  the  soul.  They,  on  the  contrary,  hold  to  Nature 
till  the  last,  and  would  partake,  in  some  measure, 
if  it  may  be  so,  of  her  universality. 


178  ART  OF  LEAVING  OFF 

I  hardly  know  anything  that  serves  to  give  us  a 
greater  notion  of  the  importance  of  proportion 
than  the  fact  made  known  to  us  by  chemistry,  that 
but  a  few  elements  mingled  together  in  different 
proportions  give  things  of  the  most  different  nature 
(as  we  suppose)  and  different  efficiency.  This  fact, 
after  a  consideration  of  the  intinitely  great  as 
appreciated  by  the  telescope,  and  the  infinitely 
small  as  divulged  by  the  microscope,  is  to  my 
mind  the  most  significant  in  physics. 

I  fear,  without  more  explanation,  I  shall  hardly 
make  myself  understood  here.  I  mean  that  this 
fact  in  chemistry  affords  a  high  idea  of  the  import- 
ance of  proportion  ;  and  the  error  we  have  been 
considering  is  one  that  mainly  arises  from  dis- 
proportion. 

For  instance,  this  want  of  power  to  leave  off 
often  shows  an  inadequate  perception  of  the  pro- 
portion which  all  our  proceedings  here  ought  to 
bear  to  time.  Everything  is  a  function  of  time, 
as  the  mathematicians  would  well  express  it. 
Then  only  consider  what  needful  demands  there 
are  on  that  time  :  what  forms,  compliments,  civil 
ties,  offices  of  friendship,  relationship  and  duty, 
have  to  bo  transacted.  Consider  the  interrup- 
tions of  life.  I  have  often  thought  how  hardly 
these  bear  upon  the  best  and  most  capable  of  men. 
Perhaps  there  arc  not  many  more  than  a  thousand 
persons  in  the  long  roll  of  men  who  have  done 
anything  very  great  for  mankind.  Nations  should 
have  kept  guard  at  their  doors,  as  we  fancy,  that 
they  might  wf)rk  undisturbed  ;  but  inst^-ad  of  that, 
domestic  misery,  jxiverty,  error  and  aHliction  of 
all  kinds  no  doubt  disturbed  and  distracted  them 
— not  without  its  enlightenment,  and  not  perhaps 
to  be  wholly  regretted  for  their  sakes.  JJut  lias 
any  one  thing  so  misled  them  and  counteracted 
their  abilities  so  much  as  this  want  of  proportion 
I  am  speaking  of,  arising  from  their  ignorance  or 


ART  OF  LEAVING  OFF  179 

inability  to  leave  off,  which  has  limited  their  efforts 
to  one  thing,  has  made  a  warrior  a  warrior  only, 
incapable  of  dealing  -with  his  conquests,  the  states- 
man a  man  of  business  and  devices  only,  so  that 
he  gains  power  but  cannot  govern,  the  man  of 
letters  a  master  of  phrases  only,  the  man  of  so- 
called  science  a  man,  like  the  Greek  philosophers, 
who  could  only  talk  about  science,  skilful  in  that 
but  never  having  left  off  that  talking  to  make  a 
single  experiment. 

But  surely  there  might  be  a  breadth  of  purpose 
and  extent  of  pursuit  without  inane  versatility. 
As  things  are,  it  is  not  often  that  you  find  any  one 
who  holds  his  art,  accomplishment,  function,  or 
business,  in  an  easy  disengaged  way,  like  a  true 
gentleman,  so  that  he  can  bear  criticism  upon  his 
doings  in  it  nobly  or  indifferently,  who  is  other 
than  a  kind  of  jiedagogue.  Much  more  difficult 
is  it  to  find  a  man  who  sees  the  work  before  him 
in  its  just  proportions  and  does  it,  yet  does  not 
make  out  of  his  work  an  obstacle  to  his  perception 
of  what  besides  is  good  and  needful  ;  and  who 
keeps  the  avenues  of  his  mind  open  to  influences 
other  than  those  which  immediately  surround 
him. 

I  am  ashamed  when  I  think  of  the  want  of 
cultivation  even  in  those  who  are  reckoned  most 
cultivated  people  ;  and  not  so  much  of  their  want 
of  cultivation,  as  their  want  of  the  power  of  con- 
tinuous cultivation.  Few,  therefore  can  endure 
leisure,  or  in  fact  can  carry  other  burthens  than 
those  which  they  have  been  used  to — like  mules 
accustomed  to  carry  panniers  or  packsaddles  in 
mountainous  countries,  which  steer  their  way 
when  free  from  their  burthens  just  as  if  they  still 
bore  them,  allowing  always  the  distance  between 
the  rocks  and  themselves  which  was  necessary 
to  clear  their  loaded  panniers,  a  mode  of  proceed- 
ing which  exceedingly  alarms  and  astonishes  the 


180  ART  OF  LEAVING  OFF 

traveller  mounted  on  these  mules  till  he  under- 
stands the  reason  of  it.  Both  men  and  mules  are 
puzzled  at  having  sometliing  new  to  undertake : 
and  indeed  the  art  of  leaving  off  judiciously  is  but 
the  art  of  beginning  something  else  which  needs 
to  be  done. 

But  if  there  is  anything  in  which  the  beauty 
and  the  wisdom  of  knowing  when  to  leave  off  is 
particularly  manifested,  it  is  in  behaviour.  And 
how  rare  is  beautiful  beha\iour,  greatly  by  reason 
of  the  want  of  due  proportion  in  the  characters 
and  objects  of  most  persons,  and  from  their  want 
of  some  perception  of  the  whole  of  things.  Let 
any  man  run  over  in  liis  mind  the  circle  of  his 
friends  and  acquaintances,  also,  if  he  is  a  well- 
read  man,  of  those  whom  he  has  become  acquainted 
with  in  history  or  biography  ;  and  he  will  own 
how  few  are,  or  have  been,  persons  of  beautiful 
behaviour,  of  real  greatness  of  mind. 

This  greatness  of  mind  which  shows  itself  daily 
in  behaviour,  and  also  in  conduct  when  you  take 
the  whole  of  a  life,  may  co-exist  with  foibles,  with 
stains,  with  perversities,  with  ignorance,  with 
shortcomings  of  any  and  of  every  kind.  But 
there  is  one  thing  which  is  characteristic  of  it,  and 
that  is,  its  freedom  from  limitation.  No  one 
pursuit,  end,  aim,  or  occupation  permanently 
sullies  its  jxrceptions.  It  may  be  ^^•icked  for  a 
time  as  David,  cruel  for  a  time  iis  Casar,  even 
false  ;  but  these  are  only  passing  forms  of  mind  ; 
and  there  is  still  room  for  virtue,  piety,  self-re- 
straint and  clemency.  Its  intelligence  is  not  a 
mirror  olwdient  to  private  impulses  that  reflects 
only  that  which  its  will  commands  for  the  time  ; 
but  gives  candidly  some  reflection  of  all  that  passes 
by.  Hence,  by  God's  blessing,  it  will  know  how 
to  leave  off;  whereivs,  on  the  contrary,  the  mind 
which  is  hedged  in  by  the  circumstances  and  ideas 


ART  OF  LEAVING  OFF  181 

of  one  passion,  or  pursuit,  is  painfully  limited,  be 
that  passion  or  pursuit  what  it  may. 

Observe  the  calmness  of  great  men,  noting  by 
the  way  that  real  greatness  belongs  to  no  station 
and  no  set  of  circumstances.  This  calmness  is 
the  cause  of  their  beautiful  behaviour.  Vanity, 
injustice,  intemperance,  are  all  smallnesses  arising 
from  a  blindness  to  proportion  in  the  vain,  the 
imjust,  and  the  intemperate.  ^'Miereas,  no  one 
thing,  unless  it  be  the  love  of  God,  has  such  a  con- 
tinuous hold  on  a  great  mind  as  to  seem  all  in  all 
to  it.  The  great  know,  unconsciously,  more  of  the 
real  beneficent  secret  of  the  world :  there  is  occa- 
sional repose  of  soul  for  them.  How  can  such 
men  be  subdued  by  money,  be  enclosed  by  the 
ideas  of  a  party,  or  a  faction,  be  so  shut  up  in  a 
profession,  an  art,  or  a  calling,  as  to  see  nought 
else,  or  to  believe  only  in  one  form  of  expression 
for  what  is  beautiful  and  good. 

Passing  by  a  mountain  stream,  I  once  beheld 
an  unfortunate  trunk  of  a  tree,  which,  ha^^ng 
been  shot  do^-n  the  side  of  a  hill  and  thus  sent 
on,  as  the  custom  is  in  those  countries,  down  the 
stream  to  find  its  way  to  the  haven,  had  unfortu- 
nately come  too  near  a  strong  eddy,  Avhich  caught 
it  up  and  ever  whirled  it  back  again.  How  like 
the  general  course  of  man  !  I  thought.  Down 
came  the  log  vnth  apparent  vigour  and  intent 
each  time,  and  it  seemed  certain  that  it  would 
drive  onwards  in  the  course  designed  for  it ;  but 
each  time  it  swirled  round  and  was  sent  back 
again.  Ever  and  anon  it  came  -with  greater  force, 
described  a  wider  arc,  and  surely  now,  I  thought, 
it  ■will  shoot  do\\'n  on  its  way  :  but  no,  it  paused 
for  a  moment,  felt  the  influence  of  its  fatal  eddy,  and 
then  returned  with  the  same  force  %\'ith  which  it  had 
come  doA^-n.  I  waited  and  waited,  groups  of  holiday- 
making  people  passed  by  me  wondering,  I  dare  say, 
what  I  stayed  there  to  see  ;    but  unmindful  of  any 


182  ART  OF  LEA\^NG  OFF 

of  us,  it  went  on  performing  its  circles.  I  returned 
in  the  evening  ;  the  poor  log  was  still  there,  busy 
as  ever  in  not  going  onwards  ;  and  I  went  upon 
my  journey,  feeling  very  melancholy  for  this  tree, 
and  thinking  there  was  little  hope  for  it.  It  may 
even  now  be  at  its  vain  gjTations,  knowing  no  rest, 
and  yet  making  no  advance  to  the  seas  for  which 
it  was  destined. 

So  let  it  not  be  Anth  us  :  caught  up  by  no  mean 
eddies  which  draw  us  to  the  side  of  the  stream 
and  compel  us  to  revolve  in  the  same  narrow 
circlet  of  passion,  of  prejudice,  of  party,  of  ambi- 
tion, of  desire  ;  finding  in  constancy  no  limitation, 
in  devotedness  of  pursuit  no  nar^OA^•ness  of  heart, 
or  thought,  or  creed  ;  choosing  as  the  highway  of 
our  career  one  which  widens  and  deepens  ever  as 
we  move  along  it  ;  let  us  float  on  to  that  unmeas- 
ured ocean  of  thought  and  endeavour  where  the 
truly  great  in  soul  (often  great  because  humble, 
for  it  is  the  pride  of  man  which  keeps  him  to  small 
purposes  and  prevents  his  knowing  when  to  leave 
off  with  earthly  things)  where  the  truly  and  the 
simply  great  shall  find  themselves  in  kindred  waters 
of  far  other  depth  than  those  which  they  were  first 
launched  out  upon. 

After  writing  down  the  foregoing  thoughts  upon 
the  art  of  coming  to  an  end,  which  had  been  the 
subject  of  my  morning's  ride,  I  went  out  upon  the 
lawTi  to  refresh  my.seif  witli  the  evening  air.  It 
was  very  clear:  the  stars  and  the  moon  were  in 
all  their  splendour;  and  the  shadows  of  the  trees 
lay  quietly  upon  the  grass,  jus  if  tiic  leaves,  for  the 
most  part  so  restless,  were  now  sleeping  on  their 
Btema,  like  ihf  birds  upon  the  branches. 

I  ha<l  resolved  that  this  reverie,  a  fitting  one  to 
conrhide  with,  slionld  bo  the  last  of  which  I  would 
give  an  account.  There  is  something  sad  about 
the  end  of  anytliinjr.  whether  it  be  the  building  of 
a  j)alace,  the  construction  of  a  great  history,  like 


THE  LAST  REVERIE  183 

that  of  Gibbon,  the  finishing  of  a  child's  babj'- 
house,  or  the  conclusion  of  some  small,  unpretend- 
ing work  in  hterature.  The  first  feelings  of  an 
author  soon  pass  by.  Those  hopes  and  those  fears 
which  quite  agitate  the  young  pretender  to  fame, 
are  equally  dulled  by  failure  or  success.  Mean- 
while, the  responsibiUty  of  -nTiting  does  not  grow 
less,  at  least  in  any  thoughtful  mind.  With  the 
little  knowledge  we  have  on  any  subject,  how 
we  muster  audacity  to  A\Tite  upon  it,  I  hardly 
know. 

These  signs,  too,  that  we  use  for  communicating 
our  thoughts,  which  we  call  language,  what  a 
strange  debris  it  is  of  the  old  languages — a  result 
of  the  manifold  corruptions  of  childish  prattle, 
of  the  uncouth  talk  of  soldiers  sent  into  conquered 
provinces,  of  the  vain  efforts  of  rude  husbandmen 
to  catch  an  unfamiliar  tongue.  And,  if  we  went 
back  to  the  old  languages,  with  equal  knowledge 
of  their  antecedents,  we  should  probably  find 
that  they  also  were  lamentable  gatherings  from 
forgotten  tongues,  huts  out  of  the  ruins  of  palaces. 

So  much  for  the  vehicle  in  which  we  convey  our 
thoughts,  imperfect  enough  in  themselves,     ji.:^ 

Then,  if  we  turn  to  the  people,  the  manners, 
the  customs  and  the  laws  we  have  to  act  upon 
vrith.  these  thoughts,  there,  too,  what  a  mass  of 
confusion  is  presented  to  us,  collected  from  all 
parts  of  the  earth  and  from  all  periods  of  history. 

As  I  thought  of  this,  I  seemed  to  see  the  various 
races  who  had  occupied  this  very  spot  flit  by — 
Briton,  Roman,  Saxon,  Norman,  each  with  his 
laws,  manners  and  customs  imprinted  on  his  bear- 
ing, the  -s^Tccks  of  miglity  empires  shown  in  the 
very  accoutrements  of  each  shadowy  form  as  it 
went  b3\  And  this  mass  of  strangely-mingled 
materials  is  the  substance  that  these  imperfect 
thoughts  expressed  in  imperfect  language  have  to 
act  upon. 


184  THE  LAST  REVERIE 

And,  then,  what  say  these  stars,  with  their  all- 
eloquent  silence  seeming  to  reduce  all  our  schemes 
into  nothings,  to  make  our  short-lived  perplexities 
ludicrous,  ourselves  and  our  ways  like  a  song  that 
is  not  sung  ?  \Miat  a  cold  reply  they  seem  to  give 
to  all  human  works  and  questionings. 

But,  said  I  to  myself,  such  trains  of  thought 
may  easily  be  pursued  too  far  ;  we  must  not  bring 
in  the  immensities  about  us  and  within  us  to  crush 
our  endeavours.  Here  we  are  ;  let  stars,  or  by- 
gone times,  or  the  ^\Tecks  of  nations,  or  the  corrup- 
tions of  language,  say  or  show  what  they  mil. 
There  is  something  also  to  be  done  by  us  :  we  have 
our  little  portions  of  the  reef  of  coral  yet  to  build 
up.  If  we  have  not  time  to  become  wise,  we  have 
time  enough  to  become  resigned.  If  we  have  rude 
and  confused  material  to  work  upon,  and  uncouth 
implements  to  work  with,  less  must  be  required 
from  us  ;  and,  as  tor  these  stars,  the  true  meaning 
to  be  got  from  them  is  in  reality  an  encouraging 
one. 

Some  men  have  thought  that  one  star  or  planet 
befriended  them  ;  some,  anotiier.  Tlii:-  man  grew 
joyful  when  the  ascendant  star  of  his  nativity  came 
into  conjunction  with  Juj)iter,  favourable  to  his 
destinies  ;  and  that  man  grew  pale  when  his  planet 
came  into  opposition  with  Saturn,  noxious  to  his 
horoscoj)e,  threatening  the  '  House  of  Life  '.  Nor 
is  astrology  extinct :  science  only  lends  it  more 
meaning,  but  not  a  private  one  for  kings  or  poten- 
tates. These  stars  say  something  very  significant 
to  all  of  »H  :  and  each  man  has  the  whole  hemis- 
phere of  them,  if  he  will  but  l(K)k  up,  to  counsel 
and  befriend  him.  In  the  morning  time,  they 
come  not  within  ken,  when  they  would  too  much 
ftlffiorb  our  attention  and  hinder  our  necessary 
business,  l>iit  in  the  evening,  they  appear  to  us, 
to   chasten   over-jjersonal    thoughts,    to   put   down 


THE  LAST  REVERIE  185 

what  is  exorbitant  in  earth-bred  fancies,  a.nd  to 
encourage  those  endeavours  and  aspirations  which 
meet  with  no  full  response  from  any  single  planet, 
certainly  not  from  the  one  we  are  on,  but  which 
derive  their  meaning  and  their  end  from  the  vast- 
ness  and  the  harmony  of  the  whole  of  God-directed 
nature  and  of  life. 

So  thinking,  I  was  enabled  for  a  moment  to  see, 
or  rather  to  feel,  that  the  threads  of  our  poor  human 
affairs,  tangled  as  they  seem  to  be,  might  yet  be 
interwoven  harmoniously  with  the  great  cords  of 
love  and  duty  that  bind  the  universe  together. 
And  so  I  returned  to  the  house,  and  said,  good- 
night, cheerfully  to  the  friendly  stars,  which  did 
not  now  seem  to  oppress  me  by  their  magnitude, 
or  their  multitude,  or  their  distance. 


INDEX 


AcADEMUS,  groves  of,  102. 

Accomplishments,  thn'ir  use  in  small  anxieties,   13G. 

Accuracy  carried  too  far,  175. 

Admiration,  insincerity  in,  149. 

Advice  to  a  descendant,  37  ;  to  men  in  small  authority, 

151. 
Affection  not  senerally  inspired  by  the  Church  of  England, 

157. 
Affections  of  the  mind,  124. 

Agreement  amongst  men  in  thought  impossible,  153. 
Amusement    necessary    and    should    be    contrived,     2fc ; 

poverty  of  amusements  in  iMigland,  20. 
Anglo-Saxons  can  afford  to  cultivate  art,  2C. 
Annals  of  the  j)oor,  familiar  words  in,  7(5. 
Arab  song,  verse  of,  applied  to  style,  175. 
Art,  pursuit  of,  42. 
Art  of  coming  to  an  end,  174  ;    ignorance  of,  has  limited 

men's  efforts,  178  ;    is  but  art  of  beginning  something 

new,  183. 
Astrology,  184. 

Author's  thougiits  on  fortunes  of  his  descendants,  34. 
Auliior,  llie  first  feelings  of,  183. 
Authority   on    great   subjects,    few    minds    free    from    its 

inlluence,  100. 

Bacon  on   the  need  of  a   friend,  3!)  ;    an  instance  ot  com- 

jiatibiiity  of  literature  with  action,  52. 
JJcliaviour,  rarity  of  knowing  wiien  to  leave  off  manifested 

in.  180. 
Hercavcmcints,  144. 
Jihiir,  liis  works,  174. 

Ulame  often  good  in  a  literary  sense,  130. 
Hooks  a  resource  against  j)hysical  and  mental  storms,  123. 
IJorgins,  the  cause  of  new  post-oflice  regulations,  19. 
Ureadth  of  purpose,  179. 


INDEX  187 

Brutus,  how  his  part  might  be  played  in  the  law,  3. 
Burke,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of  literatiure  with 

action,  52. 
Burleigh,  Lord,  speech  of  his  to  his  gown  of  state,  135. 

Caesar,  an  instance  that  literature  is  compatible  with  great 
actions,  52  ;  his  cruelty  consistent  with  greatness  of 
mind,  180. 

Calumny,  ordinary  source  of,  128  ;  most  men  of  many 
transactions  subject  to,  128  ;  to  be  looked  upon  as 
pure  misfortune,  128  ;  way  of  treating  it,  128  ;  con- 
solation in,  128. 

Camoens,  an  instance  that  literature  is  compatible  with 
action,  52  ;    quotation  from,  112. 

Carlyle,  Mr,  says  a  great  writer  creates  a  want  for  himself,  53. 

Censoriousness  the  inventor  of  many  sins,  22. 

Cervantes,  an  instance  that  literatvire  is  compatible  with 
action,  52. 

Chance  delights  in  travelling,  58. 

Character,  diversities  of,  met  with  in  travel,  146. 

Charity,  taught  by  error,  8  ;  requires  the  sternest  labour, 
24 ;  one  of  the  most  difficult  things,  24 ;  not  comprised 
in  remedjdng  material  evils,  24  ;  often  mixed  up  with 
sentiment,  65 ;  a  difficult  and  perplexed  thing,  120. 

Charles  V,  anecdote  of,  153  ;   his  retirement  majestic,  177. 

Christianity,  its  views  on  unchastity,  64 ;  to  correct 
political  economy,  73  ;  a  stumbling-block  to  many,  78. 

Christian  temper,  opportunities  for  its  manifestation  in 
travelling,  151. 

Church,  qualities  to  be  sought  for  in,  1 1  ;  perfection  to  be 
aimed  at  in,  158. 

Churches,  advantages  in  being  open,  158. 

Church,  the,  obstacles  to  the  reform  of,  159  ;  unnecessary 
articles  of  faith  in,  159. 

Church-going,  hindrances  to,  amongst  the  poor,  77. 

Church  of  England,  the,  suffers  from  opposite  attacks, 
156 ;  its  foundations,  157  ;  too  impersonal,  157  ; 
deficiency  of  heartiness  in,  158. 

Church  questions,  opposing  facts  and"arguments  in,  16. 

Chemistry  and  proportion,  178. 

Civilization  ought  to  render  the" vicissitudes  of  life  less 
extreme,  64  ;  its  advance  tells  less  upon  women  than 
upon  men,  169. 


188  IXDEX 

Climate  of  England,  2. 

Colleges  an  instance  of  misplaced  labour,  6. 

Colonization,  155. 

Coleridge,  his  explanation  of  the  word  '  world  ',  77. 

Competition,  evils  of,  24  ;    in  length  of  sermons,  24. 

Competition    in    puritanical    demonstration,    injurious    to 

sincerity,  24  ;    the  child  of  fear,  24. 
Companionship  m  travelling,  143. 
Companions,   qualities  to   be  desired    in,   143 ;    much    to 

be  learned  from,  in  travel,  145. 
Confessor,  useful  functions  of,  77. 
Confidence,  the  making  of,  100  ;    should  be  put  aside  in 

bearing  misfortune,  124. 
Conquerors,  great,  and  the  error  of  superabundance,  170. 
Constitutional  governments  have  their  price,  75. 
Constitution  of  England,  advantages  and  disadvantages 

of,  154. 
Contempt  not  justifiable  in  mortals,  79. 
Conventionality,  and  the  '  great  sin  of  great  cities  ',  79  ; 

the  adoration  of  worldliness,  79 ;    increases  the  great 

sin  of  great  cities,  79. 
Conventionalities,  small,  and  women,  1G9. 
Conviction,  unlimited  jxjwer  of  a  spirit  of,   108 ;    its  e.\- 

pansivc  power,  110. 
Counteraction  in  attacking  vice,  71. 
Country  in  winter,  9. 

Courier,  Paul  Louis,  an  instance  that  literature  is  com- 
patible with  action,  52. 
<'riticai  faculty,  its  abuse,  176. 
Criticism,  coiii])arc(i  to  the  cojiics  of  Leonardo  da  Viiui's 

'  The  Last  Suju^-r  ',  15  ;   object  iti  listening  to  it,  H>3. 
Cultivation  a  remedy  for  the  'great  sin  of  great  cities  ',71. 
Cultivation,  general,  the  want  of,  2  ;  prevents  the  enjoyment 

of  seientilic  discovery,  0  ;    a  meta|)lK)r  on,  179. 
Cultivation,  continuous,   72;    tlie   jwjwit  of,  deficient  in 

most  men,  179. 
Customs,    evil,    s{)read    rapidly,    147  ;     good,    make    way 

slowly,  147. 
Cyrus,  liis  mode  of  keeping  the  Lydians  tame,  20. 

David,  Ills  wickedness  consistent  with  greatness  of  mind,  180, 
Day,  n,  nn  epitome  f>f  a  life,   141. 


INDEX  189 

Dead  level,  a,  in  men's  character,  no  such  thing  as,  l(^^^_ 

Descartes,  an  instance  that  literatiu'e  is  compatiiile^"with 
action,  52. 

Description  of  a  foreign  scene,  115. 

Despair  the  slave-driver  to  many  crimes,  63. 

Despotism  in  social  life,  30. 

Differences,  great,  amongst  thoughtful  men  should  not  be 
stifled,  156. 

Difficulties,  intellectual  and  spiritual,  16. 

Diocletian,  his  retirement  majestic,  177. 

Diplomatic  services  by  literary  men,  53. 

Disasters  become  possessions,  126. 

Disciples  do  not  aid  the  discovery  of  truth,  140. 

Disproportion  and  the  error  of  superabundance,  178. 

Dissatisfaction  with  their  own  work,  advice  to  those  who 
suffer  from,  135. 

Division  of  labour  a  cause  of  ignorance,  6. 

Divorce,  law  of,  105. 

Domestic  annoyances,  30. 

Domestic  servants  and  conventionality,  80  ;  temptations 
of,  80  ;  improvements  in  ths  management  of,  sug- 
gested, 80. 

Doubts  on  the  greatest  matters  the  result  of  the  falsifica- 
tions of  our  predecessors,  15. 

Duelling  disarmed  by  public  opinion,  108. 

Dutch,  the,  their  'forget  book',  141. 

Duties  often  very  dubious,  119. 

Dwellings,  improvement  of,  and  poverty,  73. 

Education,  a  remedy  for  the  '  great  sin  ',71;  must  con- 
tinue through  life,  117  ;  larger  views  of,  required, 
117;  suffers  from  religious  differences,  156;  enabling 
powers  of,  164. 

EUesmere's  story,  86. 

Emerson  on  Beauty  of  Nature,  150. 

Emigration,  73. 

End  of  any  thing,  the,  sadness  of,  183. 

England,  constitution  of,  its  advantages  and  disadvan- 
tages, 154 

English  people,  their  genius,  26 ;  can  bear  judicious 
regulations,  47  ;    a  description  of,  141. 

Errors  made  into  sins,  23. 

Evil  carries  with  it  its  teachings,  70. 


190  INDEX 

Evils  their  true  proportions,  124. 

Experience  gained   by  suUering,    137  ;  of  life,  an  aid   in 
bearing  injustice,  132. 

Fable  of  a  choice  being  given  to  men  on  entrance  into  life,  42. 

Family  vanity,  00. 

Father,  a  thoroughly  judicious  one  rare,  09;  his  tluties,120. 

Felicity  a  hostage  to  Fortune,  137. 

Fiction  has  given  women  untrue  views  of  life,  71  ;  may 

be  better  than  nothing  for  the  mind,  71. 
Finance,  155. 
Flowers,  their  names,  14. 
Folly  even  at  the  side  of  princes,  47. 
Foresight  crushes  all  but  men  of  great  resolution,  41. 
Freedom,  clamour  for,  4  ;   from  restraint  in  trgvollin^.  145 
Freemasonry  among  cliildren,  31. 
Friend,  the  advantage  of  one,  131. 

Gaiety  not  necessarily  an  element  of  wickedness,  20. 

hardens,  the  love  of,  35. 

Garrick,  speech  of  Johnson's  to  him,  1.37. 

Generosity  of  mean  people,  108. 

Crcrmans,  simi^licily  of,  88. 

Goethe  and  biblical  criticism,  14  ;  says  no  creature  is 
happy,  or  even  free,  e.vcopt  in  the  circuit  of  law,  08  ; 
remark  on  toleration,  171. 

■Gospel,  the,  prevents  the  triiimj)h  of  despair,  03. 

Government  unfit  for  women,  105 ;  improvements  re- 
quired, 155  ;    reform  in,  diflicult,  155. 

■Grand  thougiits,  70. 

Great  men,  their  al>ilities  counteracted  by  a  want  of  jiro- 
[)ortion,  17!)  ;  cause  (^f  their  calmness  and  repose  of 
soul,  181  ;    tlieir  freedom  from  limitation,  180. 

Great  mind,  a,  and  the  love  of  God,  181. 

<;!reat  sin  of  great  cities,  the,  01  ;  mournfulness  of,  01  ; 
an  accurate  concentration  of  the  evils  of  society,  01  ; 
nature  of,  02  ;  degrades  the  race,  02  ;  feelings  of  the 
pf'opic  concerned  in  it,  03  ;  main  cause  of,  04  ;  over- 
i-jtrid  views  in  reference  to  uii(;hustity  a  cause  of,  04; 
charity  in  tlie  virtuous  towards,  ()4  ;  want  of  obedi- 
ence to  Christian  j)recepts  in  reference  to,  05;  want 
of  charity  towards,  makes  error  into  crime,  00 ; 
family  j)ride  provents  charity  in,  00 ;  ill-management  of 
parents  a  cause  of,  07  ;    unclcanliness  of  men  a  cause 


INDEX  191 

of,  in  the  lower  classes,  69  ;  cause  of,  as  applies  to 
men,  69  ;  the  want  of  other  thoughts  one  source  of, 
70 ;  education  and  cultivation  remedies  for,  71  ; 
remedies  for,  72  ;  conventionality  aids  to  increase  it, 
77  ;  domestic  servants  frequent  victims  to,  80 ;  im- 
provement in  men  as  a  remedy,  81  ;  love  a  preventa- 
tive of,  82. 

Greatness  of  mind,  may  co-exist  with  many  shortcomings, 
180  ;  its  characteristic  belongs  to  no  station,  181. 

Greatness  of  thought  or  nature  not  always  connected  with 
great  deeds,  166. 

Greeks,  perhaps  prevented  from  becoming  dominant  by 
cultivation  of  arts,  26. 

Grotius,  instance  of  compatibility  of  literature  with  action, 
52 

Happiness,  personal,  small  amount  needed,  137. 
Heart,  the  human,  tyranny  of,  148. 
Hindrances  to  men's  best  endeavours,  164. 
History  of  the  world,  the,  compared  with  prints  of  Leo- 
nardo da  Vinci's  '  The  Last  Supper  ',  15. 
Home  and  happiness  of  children,  68. 
Horse  exercise,  173. 

House  of  Commons,  improvement  in,  155. 
House  of  Lords,  how  to  supply  an  element  of  popular 

influence,  155. 
Human  affairs  almost  all  tedious,  174  ;    threads  of,  might 

be  interwoven  with  the  cords  that  bind  the  universe 

together,  185. 
Human  beings,  instance  of  their  power  to  maintain  their 

structure  unimpaired  in  a  hostile  element,  5. 
Human  life,  mischief  of  unsound  representations  of,  71. 
Humanity,  a  low  view  of,  one  of  the  greatest  barriers  to 

highest  knowledge,  70. 
Humility,  taught  by  error,  8,  14  ;  i)romotes  cheerfulness, 

14  ;    in  dealing  with  misfortunes,  126. 
Humour  the  deepest  part  of  some  men's  nature,  139. 
Hurry,  wise  men  avoid  it,  149. 

Hypocrisy  the  homage  which  vice  pays  to  virtue,  79. 
Hypocrites,  04. 

Ignorance  partly  due  to  division  of  labour,  6  ;  a  hindrance 
to  Church  reform,  159. 


192  INDEX 

Illegitimate  children,  duties  to,  120. 

Imagination,  want  of,  in  men,  129. 

Indulgence,  70. 

Infelicities  belong  to  the  state  below,  137. 

Injudicious  dress,  great  sull'ering  caused  by,  30. 

Injurious  comment  on  people's  conduct,  129. 

Injustice  a  different  thing  from  misfortune,  and  incom- 
mensurable with  it,  130  ;  arises  from  blindness  to 
proportion,  181. 

Insincerity  about  religion,  156. 

Intemperance  arises  from  blhidness  to  proportion,  181. 

Intellectual  energies  of  cultivated  men  want  directing  to 
the  great  questions,  159. 

Intelligent  men  liberal  in  assigning  the  limits  of  power,  49. 

Intelligent  public  opinion  will  prevent  despotism,  49. 

Intercommunication  between  rich  and  poor,  75. 

Investigation  into  prices  and  cheapness,  73. 

Irrationality  of  mankind  to  be  expected  in  all  undertakings, 
1G2. 

James  the  First  of  Scotland,  an  instance  of  the  compati- 
bilitv  of  literature  with  action,  52. 

Johnson,"  l)r,  one  of  his  highest  delights,  105  ;  speech  of 
his  to  (Jarrick,  137. 

Journey,  a,  how  dissimilar  to  a  life,  141. 

Judas  iscariot  might  have  done  better  than  to  hang  him- 
self, 07. 

Justice  not  to  be  expected  in  this  world,  133  ;  idea  of  its 
personification,  133. 

Kindness  and  'great  sin  of  great  cities  ',  07. 

Knowledge,  its  doubts  a  hindrance  to  vigorous  statement, 
15  ;  of  vice  not  knowledge  of  the  world,  09  ;  of  tlie 
world,  70;  the  means  and  the  cml  in  Iravclliiig,  142- 

Labour  of  finish  carried  too  far,  175. 
J^acedienionians  and  the  duties  of  a  father,  120. 
l^anguage,  change  of,  in  travelling,  140;  imi)erfections  of, 

140. 
J>aw,  loss  in,  3;    improvement  in,   (o   in-  lio|)ed  for,  3; 

witire    falls    short    when    aimed    at    its    ))ractices,    4; 

nuiintaincd  as  a  mysh'ry  liy  its  adjuncts,  5;  many 

n(bnirabl(!  men  in  all  grades  of,  5;    compared  to  a 

funguH,  34. 


INDEX  193 

Laws  of  supply  and  demand  overruled  by  higher  influences* 
107. 

Lawyers,  time  spent  at  their  offices,  4  ;  not  answerable 
for  all  the  evils  attributed  to  their  proceedings,  5  ;  work 
of,  compared  with  that  of  statesmen,  125. 

Lengthiness  fatal  to  a  good  style,  174. 

Leonardo  da  Vinci,  thoughts  suggested  by  his  '  The  Last 
Supper ',  15. 

Life,  objects  of,  as  regards  this  world,  20 ;  the  bustle  of, 
keeps  sadness  at  the  bottom  of  the  heart,  37. 

Limitation,  freedom  from,  a  characteristic  of  greatness,  180. 

Literary  men  more  cosmopolitan  than  other  men,  53  ; 
would  be  improved  by  business,  53  ;  plan  for  reward- 
ing them,  54. 

Literary  work  requires  many  qualifications  of  a  man  of 
business,  53. 

Literature  affords  a  choice  of  men  to  a  statesman,  51. 

Log  caught  by  an  eddy,  man's  course  compared  to  one,  181. 

Logic  halts  sometimes  when  applied  to  charity,  65. 

Loneliness  of  a  thoughtful  man,  12. 

Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of 
literature  with  action,  52. 

Love,  cannot  be  schooled  much,  71  ;  implies  infinite  re- 
spect, 81  ;  power  of,  81  ;  the  memory  of,  must  prevent 
'  the  great  sin  of  great  cities  ',  82  ;  of  God  need  not 
withdraw  us  from  our  fellow-men,  24. 

Luther,  on  tribulation,  63  ;   saying  of  his  to  his  wife,  132. 

Machiavelli,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of  literature 
with  action,  52. 

Malignities,  why  fostered  in  small  societies,  25. 

Man,  his  faculties  appear  inadequate  to  his  situation,  6  ; 
his' .own  worst  antagonist,  13  ;  becomes  deformed  by 
surrender  to  any  one  pursuit,  53  ;  an  isolated  being, 
167  ;  he  rarely  holds  his  art,  accomplishment,  func- 
tion, or  business  in  an  easy  di.sengaged  way,  17i)  ; 
one  with  mind  open  to  other  influences  than  those  of 
his  environment  rare,  179 ;  his  course  like  a  log 
caught  by  an  eddy,  181. 

Marlborough,  liis  victories,  176. 

Marriage,  unhappiness  in,  does  not  justify  '  the  great  sin 
of  great  cities  ',  105  ;  our  present  notions  of,  probably 
imperfect,  106. 


194  INDEX 

Medical  men,  in  communication  witli  the  poor.  78. 

Men   require   amusement,   2(5 ;     occasionally  deceived   by 

theories  about  equality,   09  ;    ill  prepared  for  social 

life.  143  ;    how  to  fit  tliem  for  social  life,  143  ;    more 

easy  to  deal  with  as  they  become  greater,  Kio  ;    not 

knowing  when  to  leave  off,   174  ;    small  number  of, 

who  have   done   anything  great  for   mankind,    178"; 

compared  to  mules  carrying  biu"dens,  179. 
Men,  the  greatest,  compared  to  fig-trees,  140. 
Men,  great,  never  utterly  enslaved  by  their  functions,  145. 
Men  of  genius,  their  comparative  youthfulness,  177. 
Men  of  the  world,  self-sufficiency  of,  107  ;    their  probable 

objection  to  proposed  remedies  for  '  the  great  sin  of 

great  cities  ',  107  ;    reply  to  their  objection,  108. 
Mendoza,  instance  of    literature    being    compatible    with 

action,  52. 
Mental  j)reparation  for  travelling.  142. 
Metaphor,  the  introducer  of  frightful  errors,  15  ;   essential 

in  narration,  15. 
Metastasio,  passage  from,  138. 
Milton,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of  literature  with 

action,  52 ;    liis  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce, 

10(). 
Mint!,  repose  of,  gained  by  travel,  144. 
Minister  of  education,  a,  his  duties,  76. 
Ministers  of  religion,  their  errors,  77. 
Miralxjau,  and  the  '  great  sin  of  great  cities  ',  82. 
Miseries  of  life  ke])t  down  l)y  wise  and  good  thoughts,  29. 
Misfortune  often  niaki'S  men  imgenerous,  ;{7. 
Misfortunes  exercise  all  tlic  moods  ami  faculties  of  a  man, 

125  ;    wise  way  of  dealing  witli  them,   126 ;    mean, 

often  most  difficult  to  bear,  134. 
MiMi)laced  labour,  (quantity  of,  3  ;    observable  in  schools, 

colleges,  and  |)arliaments,  5. 
Mo<iern  cultivation  docs  not  necessarily  tend  to  subdue 

greatness,  KiO. 
MoiK>maiiia<s,  too  little  account  taken  of  tliem.  128. 
.Moral  writings,  tlic  gn-at  triumph  of,   V2. 
Murillo,  pictures  of,   HH. 

Na()oIeon,  bis  invasion  of  Rns.sia  an  ofijiortunity  for 
working  out  liis  errors,  7  ;  an  instance  that  litera- 
ture is  compatil)lo  with  great  actions,  52  ;     probable 


INDEX  196 

effect  of  his  wisdom  in  not  remembering  too  much  his 
Russian  campaign,  126. 

Nations,  benefits  arising  from  intercommunication  of, 
147  ;  differences  between,  compared  with  resem- 
blances, 147. 

Native  land,  a  serious  place  to  every  man,  144. 

Nature,  considerable  address  required  to  cope  with  her, 
6  ;   goodness  of,  13  ;    appreciation  of,  150. 

Neatness  carried  too  far,  175. 

Neglect,  aids  in  bearing  it,  130. 

Newton,  change  of  study  his  recreation,  135. 

Obloquy,  consolation  in  bearing,  127. 

Obstruction  to  be  encountered  by  men  in  power,  48. 

Obtrusiveness  of  thoughts,  11. 

Officers  of  State  and  the  reduction  of  expense  in  law,  4. 

Opinion,  the  general  body  of,  127. 

Originalit\%  diseased  desire  for,  167. 

Parents,   their  ill-management    a    common  cause  of  the 

'  great  sin  of  great  cities  ',  67. 
Parliaments,  an  instance  of  misplaced  labour,  6. 
Paternal   duties,   imperative,  20 ;    difficult  to  fulfil,    121  ; 

forgetfulness  of  encourages  immorality,  121. 
Peace  a  sensation  of  power,  58. 
Pedagogues,  113. 
Peel,  Sir  Robert,  hia  death  inopportmie,  210 ;    his  good 

qualities,  154  ;    great  loss  in  him,  155  ;    sketch  of  his 

character,  161. 
Peerages  for  life,  155. 
Pensions  strangeh'  awardetl,  54. 
People,  modem,  183. 
Pine  wood,  a,  58. 

Pharisees  pronounced  the  choice  society  of  the  world,  64. 
Philosophy,  the  uses  of,  136. 
Physical  works,  waste  and  obstruction  in,  0. 
Plato,  his  harsh  opinion  of  poets  accounted  for,  15. 
Plausibility  makes  injustice  hard  to  unravel,  92. 
Pleasure.  Spanish  verses  on,   11  ;    past,  Sydney  Smith's 

opmion  of,  12  ;   falls  into  no  plan,  59. 
Politics,  not  the  greatest  field,  12. 
Poor,    the  limited   education   of,    117 ;     improvement   in 

dealings  with,  155. 
Pope  Alexander  the  Sixth  and  post-office  regulations,  20, 


196  INDEX 

Portrait  painting  compared  to  the  copies  of  Leonardo  da 
Vinci's  '  The  Last  Supper  ',  15. 

Poverty,  and  '  the  great  sin  of  great  cities  ',  64  ;  two 
kinds  of,  73  ;  women  endure  an  undue  proportion  of 
it,  104. 

Power,  in  rising  to  it  men  fail  to  learn  how  to  use  it,  74. 

Practical  wisdom  in  dealing  with  vexations,  126. 

Preachers,  topics  of,  too  limited,  158. 

Pride  chastises  with  heavier  hand  than  Penitence,  134  ; 
prevents  man  from  knowing  when  to  leave  off,  182. 

Priests  should  bring  rich  and  poor  together,  75. 

Private  opinions  on  important  subjects,  when  to  be  in- 
dulged in,  41. 

Property,  facilities  for  the  poor  to  become'"owners  of,  74. 

Proportion,  want  of,  makes  men  one-sided,  177  ;  com- 
parative youthfulness  of  men  of  genius  results  from 
their  fine  sense  of,  177  ;  its  importance  showai  in 
chemistry,  178 ;  want  of,  accounts  for  rarity  of 
beautiful  behaviour,  180. 

Protestantism,  and  closed  churches,  158. 

Proverbs  apply  only  to  certain  occasions,  43. 

Prudence  a  substantial  virtue  here,  3. 

Public  meeting,  noise  made  Ijy  a  manj  proportioned  to 
his  ignorance  of  the  subject,  20. 

Public  notaries,  4. 

Pulilic  oj)inion,  lriumj)li  of,  over  duelling,  20. 

Punctiliousness  carrii'd  too  far,  175. 

Puritan,  an  absurd,  the  correlative  of  a  wicked  Pope,  20. 

Puritanism,  thoughts  on,  20  ;  good  as^J^an  abnegation  of 
self,  22  ;    when  an  evil,  22. 

Quaker,  conversation  of  one,  25. 

Railway  legislation    reciuirod  earlier  government  interfer- 
ence, 4S. 
Papliael,  pictures  of,  148. 
Rational  |jl(iisures  diflicult  to  define,  21. 
Reason,  the  liold  of  the  Church  on,  157. 
Reasoning  j)ower8  in  women,  78.      JS 
Rec()lle(;tif)n  the  eliief  deliglit  in  travel,  141. 
Relleclion  on  i)ast  ambitions,  13. 
Reform,  slow  propnss  of,  1 10. 
Reformers,  re|)roa(;h  made  against,  109. 
Regret  nt  having  missed  tlie  one  desired  happiness,  136. 


INDEX  197 

Remedies,  political,  often  too  late,  154. 

Remorse  a  main  obstacle  to  outward  improvement,-  63. 

Relations  of  life,  difficult  of  performance,  68. 

Religion,  comfort  of  mind  from,  136  ;     the   proceedings 

of  the  state  with  respect  to,  155  ;    mischief  produced 

by  degrading  views  of,  157  ;    thoughts  on,  should  not 

be  suppressed,  157. 
Religious  spirit,  the,  and  outward  deeds,  108. 
Repining  person,  a,  reproved,  42. 
Representation  and  transfer  of    property  in  the  case  of 

the  poor,  74. 
Respectability,  undue  care  for,  166. 
Responsibility  of  -nTitrng,  183. 
Retired  allowances  for  servants,  80. 
Retrospect  not  a  very  safe  or  wise  thing,  33  ;    cannot  be 

avoided,  33  ;    differs  from  that  of  Alnaschar    in  the 

Arabian  Nights,  33. 
Retrospection,  excessive,  66. 
Reveries,  various  forms  of,  45. 
Ridicule,  fear  of,  167. 

Rochefoucault  probably  a  dupe  to  impulses  and  affection,  37. 
Roman  Catholics,  some  things  worthy  of  adoption  from, 

158. 
Roman  Emperors,  probably  maligned,  127. 
Rouen,  scene  in  the  Cathedral,  158. 
Russian  campaign,  a,  experienced  by  most  men,  7. 

Sanitary  measures,  delay  in,  48. 

Sanitary  reform,  164. 

Satire  when  aimed  at  the  law,  4. 

Savings,  the  investment  of,  74. 

Scandal  a  resource  against  dulness,  26. 

Schools  an  instance  of  misplaced  labour,  6. 

Schoolmasters  and  the  poor,  78. 

Schoolmistresses  and  the  poor,  78. 

Scriptiu-es,  the,  probable  misrepresentations  of,  15. 

Seduction,  119. 

Self-denial,  22. 

Self-inflicted  suffering  which  cannot  be  turned  to  account 

for  others,  22. 
Self-restraint  the  great  tutor,  70. 
Sermons,  competition  in  length  of,  24  ;    our  own  always 

interesting,  87  ;    too  many  preached,  158. 


198  INDEX 

Shaftesbury,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of  literature 

with  action.  52. 
Shelley,  lines  of  his  applied  to  love,  82. 
Slirewd  writers  often  the  most  easy  to  impose  upon,  37. 
Sidney,   an   instance  that  literature   is   compatible   with 

action,  52. 
Silence,  the  great  fellow-workman,  162. 
Sins,  easy  to  manufacture,  22. 
Small  anxieties,  134  ;    art  in  managing  them,  134. 
Small  errors,  their  great  importance  sometimes,  7. 
Smith.  Sydney,  his  opinion  of  past  pleasure,  12. 
Smoke,  suppression  of,  110. 

Social  injury  from  existence  of  '  the  great  sin  ',01. 
Social  disabilities,  104. 
Social   evils,   compared   to  old  trees,   48  ;   importance'of 

imanimity  with  respect  to,  110. 
Social  life,  returns  of  causes  of  sufiFering  in,  30  ;;  nien  ill- 
prepared  for,  143. 
Social  pleasures,  20. 
Social  troubles,  30. 
Socialism,  75. 

Socrates,  his  philosophy,  2. 
Somers,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of  literature  with 

action,  52. 
Spanish  colonists  in    .Vmerica  beg  that  lawyers  may  not 

go  out  to  their  colony,  5. 
Spanish  poetry,  (juotation  from,  10. 
S])anish  proverbs,  05. 
Stars,    the    thoughts    suggested    by    them,     144";     speak 

significantly  to  all,  184. 
Statesmanship,  one  of  its  great  arts,  47  ;  always  ai)i>ear8 

too  late,  47. 
Statesmen,  as  ])rotectors  from  lawy(^rs,  4  ;  two  different 
things  demanded  from,  48  ;  their  temperament  affects 
govern meiit,  50 ;  t<'inp(Tamcnt  (iesirabl(>  for,  50;  prin- 
ciples to  be  inculcated  in,  51  ;  work  of,  compared  with 
that  of  a  lawyer,  125. 
St  Jolui,  an   instance  of    tlio  compatibility  of    literature 

with  action,  52. 
Succ<!S3  dejHjnds  u[)on  the  temiK-rament  of  a  man,  40  ;    in 
*    i>*  life,  man's  faculties  inadc(iuato  to,  8. 
Sudden  distress  and  destitution  among.st  young  women, 
75, 


INDEX  199 

Sun,  the,  worshipped  by  few  idolaters,  130 ;  his  simple 
form  provoked  no  desire  to  worship,  140 ;  all  nature 
bends  in  a  supplicating  attitude  to  him,  140. 

Superabundance,  error  of,  in  the  vices  of  mankind,  176. 

Swift,  his  imaginings  not  more  absurd  than  transactions 
in  the  law,  4. 

Sylla,  his  retirement  majestic,  177. 

Systems  save  the  trouble  of  thinking,  51. 

Teaching,  difficult  from  the  want  of  distinct  convictions, 
14. 

Temperament,  the  best  for  success,  40. 

Temple,  Sir  William,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of 
literature  with  action,  52. 

Theology,  science  of,  112. 

Thoughts  at  the  mercy  of  accident,  112;  reason  for  main- 
taining them  long  on  the  mind,  173. 

Time,  every  thing  a  function  of,  178  ;  needful  demands 
on,  178. 

Timidity  of  mind  makes  women  the  victims  of  conven- 
tionality, 78. 

Tiresomeness  belongs  not  to  virtue  alone,  174. 

Titian,  pictures  of,  148. 

Tragedy,  different  phases  of.  111. 

Translation  compared  to  the  copies  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci's 
'  The  Last  Supper ',  15. 

Travellers  and  misconceptions,  149. 

Travellers,  hints  to,  on  their  behaviour,  151. 

Travelling  in  a  carriage,  101  ;  must  improve  all  men,  115  ; 
ancient  mode  of,  compared  with  modern,  142  ;  ad- 
vantages of,  144  ;    enjoyments  of,  146. 

Truth  in  Church  questions,  Hi ;  carries  all  earthly  and  all 
heavenly  consolations,  125. 

Tyranny  of  the  weak,  27  ;  by  whom  exercised,  27  ;  why 
endured,  27  ;  the  generous  great  sufferers  from,  27  ; 
compared  to  an  evil  government,  27  ;  great  in  quiet 
times,  27  ;  analysis  of,  28  ;  its  cessation,  28  ;  a  common 
form  of  it,  28 ;   reason  for  putting  a  limit  to  it,  28. 

Uncharitable  speeches,  67. 

Uncultivated  jxHsple  seldom  just  or  tolerant,  102. 
Unhappiness,  a  common  form  of,  136. 
Unhappy  marriages  a  cause  of  '  great  sin  ',  105. 


200  INDEX 

Vanity  arises  from'|blindness  to  proportion,  181. 

Variety  found  in  travelling,  144. 

Vice  and  the  poor,  70. 

Vices,  and  solitude,  21  ;  of  mankind,  a  field  for  the  error 
of  superabundance,  176. 

Violence  always  loss,  12. 

Virgil,  quotation  from,  170. 

Virtuous,  the  chr.rity  recommended  to  them,  64. 

Visual  image  of  a  person,  which  should  change  accord- 
ing to  the  want  of  truth  in  comments  made  on  the 
person,  130. 

Wages  of  poor,   improvement  in  dwellings  a   means   of 
making  them  go  further,   73  ;    improvement  in  the 
representation  and  transfer  of  property  a  means  of 
enabling  them  to  go  further,  74. 
Wisdom  and  injustice,  132. 

Women  incompetent  to  the  management  of  affairs,  5  ; 
naturally  aristocrats,  a  cause  of  their  frailty,  69  ; 
rarely  deceived  by  theories  about  equality,  69  ;  im- 
portance of  a  better  education  for,  71  ;  love  personal 
talk,  92  ;  do  not  always  understand  eacii  other,  99  ; 
some  of  the  highest  natures  amongst  them  may  be 
found  in  the  lowest  ranks,  l(y2  ;  have  to  endure  an 
undue  proportion  of  poverty,  104  ;  a  wTong  apprecia 
tion  of  their  powers  circumscribe  their  means  of  em- 
ployment, 104  ;  generally  deficient  in  method,  104  ; 
want  accuracy,  101  ;  new  sources  of  employment 
for,  104  ;  government  not  fit  for  them,  10."> ;  more 
slavish  to  small  conventionalities  than  men,  169. 

World,  the,  its  advancement,  6 ;  no  one  discovery 
resuscitates  it,  6 ;  its  want  of  ingenuity  and 
arrangement  in  not  providing  employjnent  for  its  un- 
employed, 104  ;  always  correcting  its  opinions,  127  ; 
one  of  misunderstanding,  haste,  blindness,  passion 
indolence  and  private  interest,  133. 

Workwomen,  small  wages  of,  73. 

Would-lxj  teachers,  suggestions  to.  17. 

Writer,  a,  and  the  mood  of  his  readers,  83. 

Youth,  beauty  of,  83  ;  cause  of  shvnesa  and  col«lnes.s  in.  1  fi9. 
Young  talent,  167. 


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